t^fc , 


6 


THE  RED  PAPER 


Ho\v — how    long    have    I    been    this    way?"    asked    John. 


PAPER 


c.c 

HOTCHKISS 

^  ,/" 

c/yurnor  o^O 
"BETSY  ROSS' 


GREFE' 


N  E  ^T  YORK 

W.J.W^ATT    6-^    COMPANY 

PUBLI^HE          IL,^' 


Copyright,  igie 

BY 
W.   J.    WATT    &    COMPANY 


Published  September 


Stack 

Annex 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  CONFESSION  5 

II.     A  TRAGEDY  18 

III.  A  LETTER  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 33 

IV.  TOM  HARPER   59 

V.     THE  RED  PAPER 71 

VI.     GRACE  MERRIDALE 79 

VII.     BAGSHOT  MOVES 91 

VIII.    THE  PLAN   100 

IX.     ANOTHER  LETTER   no 

X.     A  MATTER  OF  HASTE 122 

XI.     ON  THE  LONE  STAR 137 

XII.     A  CLIMAX    152 

XIII.  AN  OPEN  GAME 159 

XIV.  BAGSHOT'S  FIRST  MOVE 167 

3 


2136300 


4  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV.     CHECK    186 

XVI.     DEPUTY  SHERIFF  HARPER 199 

XVII.     THE  DEVIL  CARES  FOR  His  OWN 220 

XVIII.     THE  STAGE-DRIVER 235 

XIX.     AT  THE  FORD 248 

XX.     THE  DESERT 259 

XXI.     THE  NORTHER 270 

XXII.     IN  THE  HUT 277 

XXIII.     NEMESIS   289 


THE  RED  PAPER 


THE  RED  PAPER 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  CONFESSION 

IT  was  growing  late,  and  the  September  night 
held  the  breathless  character  of  heat  and  humid 
ity  with  which  New  York  is  usually  cursed  in 
July.  Even  the  Great  White  Way,  awakening  to 
the  new  "season,"  sagged  under  the  depressing 
influence  of  the  weather.  The  crowds  moved  slug 
gishly,  finding  exertion  attended  with  inconvenience 
and  discomfort;  there  was  little  unnecessary  traffic; 
conventional  society  perspired  within  doors;  the 
less  fortunate  element  patronized  front  stoops, 
while  the  proletariat  took  to  the  house-tops.  In 
the  up-town  side  streets  it  was  very  quiet. 

As  John  Wentworth  turned  into  Madison  Avenue 
and  came  before  his  own  door  he  saw  a  man  smoking 
a  cigarette  as  he  lounged  against  the  low,  cut-stone 
wall  bounding  the  narrow  strip  of  earth  between 
the  pavement  and  the  building,  the  heavy  air  bringing 
to  his  nostrils  the  odor  of  Cuban  tobacco. 

5 


6  THE  RED  PAPER 

Wentworth  barely  noticed  him  and  was  about 
to  go  up  the  broad  steps  when  the  stranger  discon 
nected  himself  from  the  wall,  moved  forward  and 
accosted  him. 

"Senor,  will  you  kindly  tell  me  the  hour?" 

There  was  nothing  offensive  or  threatening  in  the 
request,  nor  did  the  man  who  made  it  look  dangerous ; 
but  being  a  thorough  New  Yorker  and  wise  in  his 
own  generation,  Wentworth  did  not  attempt  to  con 
sult  his  watch.  "It  is  half-past  ten,"  he  said,  making 
a  shrewd  guess,  at  the  same  instant,  in  a  compre 
hensive  glance,  taking  in  the  details  of  the  questioner. 

By  his  accent,  manner  and  appearance  the  latter 
was  plainly  a  foreigner.  His  dark  hair  hung  almost 
to  his  shoulders,  and  there  was  just  light  enough 
for  Wentworth  to  catch  his  expression  and  to  see 
that  his  face  was  adorned  with  a  mustache  and 
goatee.  The  young  man  smiled  as  he  realized  that 
he  had  been  suspicious  of  one  whose  slight,  well- 
dressed  body  would  have  been  no  match  for  his 
own  muscular  and  athletic  figure. 

At  the  answer  the  stranger  waved  a  small,  well- 
shaped  hand.  "Much  thanks,  Senor.  Buenos  noches." 
At  that  he  turned  and  strolled  up  the  avenue  with 
the  deliberate  slowness  of  one  without  an  object 
other  than  a  desire  to  kill  time. 

Wentworth  reached  the  top  step,  and  while  feeling 
for  his  latch-key  turned  and  looked  after  him.  The 
young  man  appeared  to  be  the  embodiment  of  all 
that  was  fortunate,  yet,  in  truth,  while  at  the  high 


THE   CONFESSION  T 

tide  of  physical  health  and  harmony,  subconsciously 
he  was  far  from  being  satisfied  with  himself.  Even 
as  he  stood  there  watching  the  receding  figure  he 
was  vaguely  aware  that  he  was  wasting  his  powers 
in  ease,  or  at  an  avocation  which  at  best  was  hardly 
more  than  piffling;  but  he  lacked  the  incentive  to 
put  his  latent  strength  of  mind  and  body  into  effective 
play.  He  had  nothing  to  ruffle  him  in  the  way  of 
a  lack  of  money,  nothing  to  disturb  his  temper  in 
the  way  of  enmity  or  jealousy,  nothing  to  stir  his 
blood  through  being  loved  by  or  loving  a  woman. 
He  was  moving  on  a  sluggish  current  of  self-ease, 
and,  unknown  to  himself,  was  being  mildly  punished 
by  the  law  demanding  sacrifice  as  an  exchange  for 
happiness. 

Born  to  the  purple  and  the  silver  spoon,  his  life 
had  been  such  as  naturally  to  extinguish  high  ambi 
tion;  but  his  pride  of  self  and  family  was  great, 
fantastically  so;  it  represented  honor,  and  its  honor 
had  never  been  impugned.  Had  John  Wentworth 
known  what  he  lacked,  he  would  have  supplied  the 
want;  but  at  present  he  only  felt  the  surge  of  some 
thing  the  nature  of  which  he  did  not  realize.  It 
was  not  social  aspiration.  For  "society"  he  cared 
nothing,  having  but  few  close  friends  and  but  one 
intimate.  He  did  not  know  what  he  wished;  there 
was  no  recognized  want  he  could  name,  but  the  un 
important  incident  of  meeting  the  stranger,  who  by 
this  was  out  of  sight,  seemed  somehow  to  accen 
tuate  a  rising  protest  at  his  own  uselessness,  though 


8  THE  RED   PAPER 

there  was  nothing  in  the  trifling  circumstance 
of  the  encounter  that  seemed  to  bear  any  relation 
to  himself  or  his  affairs.  With  an  impatient  jerk  at 
the  bunch  of  keys  which  had  become  jammed  in 
his  pocket,  he  turned  and  let  himself  into  the 
house. 

The  front  hall  was  dark,  and  Wentworth  was  about 
to  go  upstairs  to  his  own  rooms  when  he  noticed  the 
library  door  was  open,  the  soft  light  from  within 
showing  at  the  further  end  of  the  broad  passage. 
It  told  him  that  his  father  had  not  yet  retired.  He 
hung  up  his  hat  and  went  down  the  hall  for  a  good 
night  word  with  his  parent. 

Captain  Wentworth  was  nervously  writing  at  a 
broad  mahogany  table  desk  strewn  with  papers, 
the  glow  from  an  intricately  twisted  electrolier 
falling  on  his  thick  and  disordered  white  hair.  His 
bushy  white  eyebrows  were  contracted,  and  he  was 
fiercely  biting  the  short  ends  of  his  closely  trimmed 
white  mustache.  His  was  a  handsome  head,  but 
one  could  see  by  his  paleness  and  the  lines  of  his 
face  that  he  was  physically  depleted;  indeed,  he 
had  the  appearance  of  one  whose  nerves  were  being 
ground  to  a  fine  edge.  A  small  lacquered  table 
stood  at  his  elbow  and  on  it  were  a  decanter  of  wine, 
a  cut-glass  ice-pitcher  covered  with  beads  of  moisture, 
some  glasses,  and  a  plate  of  sweet  biscuits.  The 
air  of  the  sumptuously  furnished  room  was  hot  and 
close,  notwithstanding  the  swung-back  French 
windows. 


THE   CONFESSION  9 

As  the  front  door  closed  the  old  gentleman  abruptly 
ceased  writing  and  listened,  and  as  he  heard  his  son's 
footsteps  coming  down  the  marble  floor  of  the  hall 
he  hurriedly  but  carefully  slipped  the  sheet  on  which 
he  had  been  at  work  under  the  leather-lined,  pink 
blotting  pad  before  him.  He  had  but  just  concealed 
the  paper  when  the  young  man  appeared. 

"You  are  pegging  at  it  a  bit  too  hard,  dad,"  said 
John  affectionately  as  he  paused  by  his  father  and 
noted  the  strained  expression  of  his  face.  "You 
should  be  abed,  sir." 

Captain  Wentworth  ran  his  hand  nervously  up 
the  thin  gold  chain  attached  to  his  eye-glasses,  and 
removing  them,  settled  back  in  his  pivoted  chair 
and  swung  round  to  face  his  son. 

"I  know  it,  Jack,  I  know  it."  He  spoke  with  a 
gasp,  as  though  short  of  breath  from  excitement  or 
exertion. 

"What's  the  necessity,  dad?" 

In  return  the  old  gentleman  looked  at  the  young 
man  as  though  he  envied  the  fine  lines  of  the  tall, 
athletic  figure;  then,  ignoring  the  question,  he  passed 
his  hand  over  his  eyes  and  asked  abruptly:  "Where 
have  you  come  from,  Jack?" 

"From  the  Grand  Central,  after  seeing  Tom  Harper 
off  on  his  hunt.  We  had  been  at  my  laboratory,  or 
studio,  or  whatever  you  may  choose  to  call  it." 

"Delectable  amusement  there,  I  suppose!"  The 
elder  man  looked  at  his  son  as  if  measuring  him  for 
a  purpose,  his  face  very  serious;  the  other,  who 


10  THE  RED   PAPER 

was  selecting  a  cigarette  from  the  case  he  took  from 
his  pocket,  did  not  notice  the  critical  glance.  His 
answer  was  nonchalant. 

"I  have  comfortable  quarters  there,  certainly. 
When  are  you  going  to  honor  me  with  a  call  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  What  does  it  all  amount  to, 
Jack?" 

John  Wentworth  smiled.  "Amount  to?  Is  that 
a  conundrum?  Well,  I  hardly  hope  to  get  a  painting 
hung  in  the  Academy,  or  have  more  than  honorable 
mention  in  the  photographers'  exhibition.  I  can't 
say  I  possess  a  high  order  of  ambition — but — delect 
able  amusement,  most  decidedly!" 

The  old  gentleman  made  no  direct  answer  to  this, 
but  continued  to  gaze  fixedly  at  his  son,  his  broad 
chest  heaving  with  every  breath  as  if  his  lungs 
lacked  air. 

"Has  Thomas  gone  to  bed?"  he  finally  asked. 

"I  presume  so.  The  house  seems  locked  for  the 
night,  save  here."  John  glanced  at  the  opened 
windows. 

"Then  shut  the  door." 

The  words  were  so  abrupt  that  the  young  man 
looked  closely  at  his  father  before  he  obeyed.  As 
he  turned  back  from  the  door  and  lighted  his  ciga 
rette  he  noticed  the  captain's  labored  breathing. 

"You  are  done  up,  dad." 

"I  am.  God!  If  I  could  have  but  your  youth, 
your  strength!"  The  outburst  was  sudden  and 
apparently  uncalled  for.  The  young  man  bent 


THE   CONFESSION  11 

forward  and  looked  with  astonishment  at  his  father, 
but  the  old  gentleman's  eye  reassured  him. 

"Why  this  dramatic  desperation,  dad?"  he  asked. 

"Desperate,  indeed,  my  son!"  was  the  serious 
return.  "Sit  down,  Jack.  I've  got  to  talk  to  you 
—if  I  can — but  I  haven't  been  able  to  take  a  deep 
breath  all  day." 

"The  old  trouble?" 

The  captain  nodded  and  tapped  his  chest  over  his 
heart.  "My  boy,"  he  began,  with  an  air  of  dogged 
determination,  "I  have  never  given  you  an  intimate 
insight  into  my  affairs;  not  because  I  was  afraid 
to  trust  you;  not  because  I  thought  you  lacked 
either  sense  or  sympathy,  but  because  your  tastes 
and  mine  have  been  along  such  different  lines.  My 
days  have  been  devoted  to  business — yours  have 
been  passed  in  ambling  along  the  easy  road  of  a 
dilettante.  To  me  you  were  unpractical,  though 
I  have  not  disturbed  you  by  attempting  to  force 
your  thoughts  into  different  channels.  But  the  time 
has  come,  Jack,  when  against  my  wish  and  by  the 
force  of  necessity  I  am  compelled  to  talk  to  you. 
Indeed,  the  necessity  has  existed  for  some  time — 
but  I  have  shied  at  it — I  have  feared  it." 

The  speaker  paused  and  struggled  for  a  deep 
breath.  His  son  looked  at  him,  his  face  showing  a 
mixture  of  perplexity,  anxiety  and  interrogation, 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  the  cigarette  between  his 
lips  burned  on  uninhaled.  The  captain  evidently 
saw  the  suppressed  question  in  the  young  man's 


12  THE   RED   PAPER 

face,  for  after  a  spasmodic  heaving  of  his  broad  shoul 
ders  he  continued: 

"I  saw  the  doctor  again  to-day.  He  told  me  I 
must  quit  at  once — go  to  Europe — or  somewhere, 
but  he  won't  guarantee  my  life  for  an  hour.  I  know 
my  condition  quite  as  well  as  he,  and —  He 
hesitated. 

"Well?"  The  word  came  after  a  moment  of  deep 
silence,  the  blood  slowly  leaving  the  face  of  the  young 
man  as  he  stared  at  his  father. 

"And  I  don't  care  how  soon  it  is  over!"  said  the 
captain,  with  a  determination  and  abruptness  that 
spoke  volumes  of  his  mental  state. 

"Dad!"  The  exclamation  was  explosive  and  pro 
testing.  The  old  gentleman  lifted  his  hand  in 
deprecation. 

"No—  I  mean  it,  Jack.  When  a  man  gets  to  be 
sixty  years  of  age  he  has  become  disillusioned,  no 
matter  how  optimistic  he  has  been.  If  it  were  not 
for  one's  youth  and  consequent  blindness  life  would 
be  voted  a  failure  by  nearly  every  honest  man  arriving 
at  my  age.  But  that  aside,  Jack.  You  have  your 
mother's  patrimony;  you  have  used  it  as  suited 
yourself.  How  does  it  stand?" 

"I  have  increased  it  a  trifle,  sir,"  was  the  rather 
mechanical  response,  as  the  young  man  threw  away 
the  cigarette  which  was  scorching  his  mustache. 

"That  is  good,  Jack!  That  is  good— and  for 
tunate — for  from  me  you  will  get  next  to  nothing. 
j —  i_  jje  stopped,  mastered  by  his  emotion. 


THE   CONFESSION  13 

"Are  you  trying  to  explain  to  me  that  you  have 
met  with  losses?"  asked  the  other,  a  new  light  spring 
ing  to  his  eye.  "Why  beat  about  the  bush,  dad? 
All  I  have  shall  be  at  your  command,  and  - 

The  old  gentleman  stopped  him  by  again  lifting 
his  hand.  "  No,  Jack.  If  it  were  only  that  it 
would  be  simple  enough.  You  have  the  generosity 
of  the  unselfish  and  the  unthinking.  I  thank  you. 
But  it  is  not  that,  nor  do  I  mean  that  my  state  of 
health  is  hopeless.  I  may  live  for  some  years,  or  I 
may  not,  but—  Again  he  hesitated. 

The  oppressive  grip  on  John  Wentworth's  heart 
loosened  a  trifle.  If  the  matter  troubling  his  father 
was  not  a  question  of  money  or  a  question  of  health 
it  could  not  be  serious.  The  young  man's  voice 
took  a  soothing  tone  as  he  cast  off  his  load,  lighted 
another  cigarette,  and  said: 

"  You  are  far  overwrought,  dad.  The  heat  is 
something  awful.  You've  had  a  bad  day — you've 
had  them  before.  Don't  talk  any  more  to 
night.  " 

The  captain  shook  his  white  head.  "It  is  not 
altogether  that.  It  is  not  the  heat,  nor  the  bad  day— 
I'm  used  to  them.  Listen  to  me.  I  must  tell  you, 
for  if  anything  should  happen  to  me,  the  matter 
would  devolve  on  you  for  a  time — until  a  new  trustee 
could  be  appointed.  " 

"Trustee!     For  whom?" 

"Grace  Merridale.  She  soon  comes  of  age.  Her 
papers  are  in  the  deposit  vaults.  You  didn't  know 


14  THE   RED   PAPER 

of  this — you  don't  know  her — but  you  have  heard 
me  speak  of  David  Merridale — of  Texas — my  old 
friend — since  the  days  we  were  at  sea  together?  He 
was  indeed  my  David!" 

"Yes.     I  know." 

"Well,  he  made  me  trustee  for  his  daughter,  Grace, 
under  his  will.  The  amount  of  the  scheduled  estate 
is  small — but  there  is  another  matter — a  paper — 
he  gave  me  to  hold  for  his  daughter.  This  is  a  trust 
outside  of  the  trust  at  law — it  is  a  personal  trust. 
David  handed  the  paper  to  me  while  he  was  dying — 
dying  in  my  arms,  Jack — dying  from  exhaustion  after 
a  trip  across  the  Texas  desert." 

The  old  gentleman  labored  as  he  spoke.  He 
stopped,  and,  turning  to  the  table  at  his  elbow,  poured 
out  a  glass  of  wine  which  he  drank  off.  It  appeared 
to  stimulate  him,  for  with  something  more  of  vigor 
and  less  of  distress,  he  went  on.  "Jack,  you  would 
scarcely  believe  that  so  much  was  involved  in  a  bit 
of  paper  not  a  legal  document — a  paper  that  would 
be  meaningless  to  you — a  square  of  red  paper,  for 
that  is  all  it  appears  to  be;  and  stranger  yet  will  you 
consider  the  place  where  it  is  deposited." 

"And  where  is  that?"  asked  the  young  man, 
hardly  curious  after  his  recent  strain.  There  could 
be  nothing  serious  in  this.  He  knew  his  father's 
sense  of  punctilious  honor,  a  sense  he  had  himself 
inherited,  and  thought  that  perhaps  the  old  gentleman 
might  have  placed  the  paper  in  some  institution  the 
name  of  which  he  was  about  to  tell.  Captain  Went- 


THE   CONFESSION  15 

worth  lifted  his  hand  and  pointed  to  a  painting  hung 
on  the  wall  behind  his  son. 

"John,  in  the  back  of  that  picture  the  paper  in 
question  is  hidden."  He  stopped  as  if  to  witness 
the  effect  of  the  strange  statement. 

Young  Wentworth's  eyes  were  again  filled  with 
troubled  wonder  as  he  mechanically  turned  and 
glanced  at  the  picture  indicated.  He  knew  it  well 
enough.  It  had  been  one  of  his  own  first  efforts, 
and  had  been  kept  by  his  father  more  as  a  souvenir 
than  for  any  artistic  value.  It  was  hung  high  over 
the  mantel  and  out  of  easy  reach. 

"Something  of  a  romantic  cast,  this,  dad,"  he 
said,  with  a  strained  endeavor  at  ease  of  manner,  for 
he  had  little  doubt  that  for  the  moment  his  father 
was  suffering  from  some  sudden  mental  disturbance; 
the  whole  interview  had  been  strange.  "Isn't  it  a 
queer  place  for  you  to  hide  a  paper  of  worth?" 

"You  may  think  it  strange,  Jack.  Perhaps  it  is. 
To  you  the  thing  would  appear  meaningless — merely 
a  bit  of  colored  paper,  only,  but  I  repeat,  it  belongs 
to  Grace  Merridale  on  her  coming  of  age,  and  does 
not  go  to  her  as  a  legal  right — it  is  not  included  in  her 
father's  will.  It  becomes  a  matter  of  honor  to  me — • 
or  to  you — to  see  that  she  gets  it.  My  son,  that 
paper  is  of  incalculable  value  to  any  one  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  its  character  and  contents." 

"Then,  why  have  you  not  kept  it  in  the  deposit- 
vaults — with  the  legal  matter?"  interrupted  the 
other,  now  somewhat  impressed. 


16  THE   RED   PAPER 

He  had  known  of  the  Merridales,  father  and 
daughter;  but,  as  they  had  always  lived  in  Texas,  he 
had  never  seen  them.  He  knew  that  David  Merridale 
had,  indeed,  been  a  David  to  Captain  Wentworth's 
Jonathan;  that  they  had  been  loyal  friends  since 
the  days  when  they  had  been  on  the  sea,  though  both 
had  long  since  forsaken  the  ocean.  But  why  such 
an  intensely  practical  man  as  was  his  father  should 
conceive  the  romantic  idea  of  hiding  a  valuable 
document  in  a  picture  in  his  own  library,  where  it 
might  meet  with  destruction,  he  was  at  a  loss  to 
understand. 

At  the  question  put  by  his  son,  the  captain  wet  his 
lips  with  his  tongue,  and  his  paleness  was  for  a 
moment  overcome  by  a  slight  flush. 

"I  had  it  in  the  vaults,"  he  said  impressively, 
"but  I  could  not  keep  it  there.  I  am  telling  you 
this  that  you  may  know—  He  ceased  abruptly; 
then,  grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair  in  a  grip  so  firm 
that  it  turned  his  knuckles  white,  he  leaned  forward. 
"My  Heaven!  John!  The  worry  over  that  paper — - 
the  temptation  of  it — is  killing  me.  My  peace 
lies  in  parting  with  it — yet  my  honor  guards  it." 

The  captain  had  cast  aside  restraint;  his  voice 
was  raised.  His  son  looked  at  him  as  if  fascinated; 
in  reality,  he  was  stunned  by  this  exhibition,  and  his 
half-consumed  cigarette  fell  to  the  floor  as  he  bit 
through  it.  There  was  hardly  a  moment  of  silence 
before  the  captain  went  on,  an  inward  excitement 
becoming  more  and  more  outwardly  visible.  He 


THE   CONFESSION  17 

held  his  hands  toward  his  son  as  though  in  appeal. 
"John,  I  have  come  to  it  at  last!  I  am  a  ruined  man! 
Not  through  speculation  or  unwise  investment;  I 
never  was  money-mad  or  had  enough  to  play  with, 
but — but  I  have  been  haunted  until  that  paper  alone 
can  satisfy  the  demand  of  the  vampire  who  has  sucked 
my  blood  for  ten  years.  Ten  years,  Jack!  I  am 
almost  spent — ruined  by  a  blackmailer!" 

The  young  man  got  unsteadily  to  his  feet.  "Black 
mailed!  You,  blackmailed!"  he  exclaimed,  his  dark 
eyes  distended  with  astonishment.  The  old  man, 
now  pale  from  exertion,  nodded. 

"Yes;  for  an  unwarranted  act  in  my  early  life. 
I  dare  not  tell  you.  It  has  been  hanging  over  my 
conscience  for  forty  years,  and  for  the  last  ten  has 
threatened  me  like  the  sword  of  Damocles.  Under 
it  I  have  been  broken  physically  and  financially — 
and  the  finish  is  near.  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  resources. 
I  have  robbed  your  future,  but — but" — his  hands 
clenched — "the  final  price  I  will  not  pay.  /  will  not 
pay!  It  is  a  matter  of  my  honor." 


CHAPTER  II 
A  TRAGEDY 

FOR  a  few  moments  the  two  men  looked  at 
each  other,  the  younger  one  standing,  his 
eyes  wide  and  his  emotion  too  great  to  admit 
of  action.  Had  his  father  struck  him  he  would  have 
been  less  incapable  of  thought  and  speech. 

He  felt  like  one  who  had  gone  gaily  along  a  pleasant 
path  to  find  himself  suddenly  confronting  a  yawning 
precipice,  and  he  was  as  well  aware  in  that  moment 
that  his  easy,  devil-may-care  life  had  come  to  a 
full  stop  as  he  was  later  when  the  prospect  became 
a  certainty. 

It  was  the  captain  who  first  broke  the  oppressive 
silence — a  silence  so  profound  that  the  ticking  of 
the  French  clock  on  the  cabinet  mantel  dominated 
all  other  sounds.  He  raised  himself  slowly,  and 
smiled  a  wan,  forced  smile. 

"I  need  not  have  been  so  violent — so  brutally 
violent,"  he  said,  quite  calmly  and  with  a  slight  wave 
of  his  hand.  "The  matter  got  the  better  of  me.  The 
excitement  was  bad — bad!  I  was  told  to  guard 
against  it.  But  I  am  glad  I  spoke,  John.  I  think 

18 


A  TRAGEDY  19 

I  feel  better  for  it,  though  it  took  all  my  nerve- 
force." 

The  young  man  seemed  to  awake  from  a  dream. 

"I  am  not  sure  I  know  what  has  happened,"  he 
said,  passing  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  "I  hope  I 
have  misunderstood  you,  sir." 

"I  spoke  plainly  enough,  I  think,"  returned  the 
other,  with  the  uncalled-for  testiness  of  the  heart 
sufferer,  who  can  usually  brook  neither  stupidity 
nor  opposition. 

"Possibly,"  returned  the  young  man,  ignoring 
his  father's  tone,  "but  I  still  feel  somewhat  abroad, 
and  have  not  yet  got  the  thing  into  proper  mental 
focus.  I  only  made  out  two  concrete  facts,  sir. 
First,  a  paper  is  hidden  in  a  picture;  and,  second, 
that  you  have  been  the  victim  of  someone — you 
did  not  mention  whom.  What  are  the  relations  be 
tween  the  two?  I'll  answer  for  the  settlement  of 
your  enemy,  if  you  will  give  me  his  name  and  tell 
me  where  he  can  be  found." 

"Which  is  tantamount  to  expressing  a  desire  to 
ruin  your  family's  reputation!  It  was  to  save  this 
that  has  brought  me  so  low!" 

"But,  sir,  I  have  a  right  to  know,  even  if  you 
forbid  me  to  act." 

"Yes — but  not  to-night.  I  am  not  equal  to  it. 
I  have  spent  myself." 

"And  when,  then?"  There  was  little  softness 
in  the  young  man's  voice,  and  his  attitude  was 
truculent,  though  the  latter  did  not  reflect  on  the 


20  THE   RED   PAPER 

old  gentleman  who  now  sat  in  his  chair  in  a  semi- 
collapsed  state;  but  the  question  was  eagerly  put, 
and  demanded  an  answer. 

"To-morrow,  perhaps.  Yes,  to-morrow.  But  not 
this  way,  John.  I  can  write  and  be  calm.  I  will 
write  it  all." 

"And  the  name  of — him?" 

"Yes — everything." 

"You  promise?" 

"I  promise.  I  have  only  this  to  say  now.  Never 
part  with  that  paper  until  you  can  place  it  in  the 
hands  of  Grace  Merridale.  She  will  be  of  age  in 
two  months.  Your  responsibility  will  be  short. 
I  will  write  an  explanation  of  its  nature,  for  she 
would  know  nothing  about  it — no  more  than  you. 
And  be  careful,  for  if  that  monstrous  villain  should 
become  aware — 

"No  more  to-night,  dad,"  interrupted  the  young 
man,  as  he  saw  signs  of  a  return  of  his  father's 
excitement.  "Write  it  all  out  to-morrow.  Let  me 
help  you  upstairs." 

"No — no;  I  am  all  right  again,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  impatient  at  the  interruption.  "Go  to 
bed  yourself.  I  will  follow  soon.  It  is  not  yet  eleven. 
I  will  read  awhile;  I  could  not  sleep  now.  Good 
night,  John." 

It  was  a  curt  dismissal,  but  it  might  as  well  have 
been  a  command,  for  the  son  had  always  respected 
his  father's  slightest  wish.  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  laid  one  hand  on  the  captain's  shoulder  and 


A  TRAGEDY  21 

held  out  the  other.  He  had  not  been  so  demon 
strative  in  years. 

"Good-night,  dad.  Whatever  has  been — or  what 
ever  is  to  be,  we  are  as  one  in  this." 

His  father  grasped  the  outstretched  hand  and  his 
eyes  became  moist.  "Good-night,  Jack.  God  bless 
you,  my  lad.  I  have  been  foolish  to  bear  this  load 
alone  for  I  might  have  known  I  could  depend  on  you 
to  help  me  out.  I  wish  I  had  spoken  before.  I 
might  have  been  saved  much." 

With  a  feeling  too  deep  to  be  expressed  in  words 
the  young  man  turned  and  left  the  library,  but  he 
did  not  go  to  his  own  apartments.  Sleep,  or  even 
bed,  was  out  of  the  question  for  him.  Like  one 
dazed  by  a  blow  which  still  left  him  part  of  his 
faculties,  he  took  his  hat  from  the  broad  antlers 
which  hung  in  the  hall,  and  went  into  the  hot,  still 
night,  closing  the  door  softly  behind  him.  As  he 
did  so  he  felt  that  he  had  forever  shut  out  his  old 
life — that  a  new  epoch  had  dawned  for  him;  but  the 
idea  was  misty  and  lacked  detail;  it  did  not  startle  him. 

As  the  white-haired  man  in  the  library  heard  the 
front  door  close  behind  his  son  he  threw  aside  the 
book  he  had  taken  from  the  table,  shook  his  fist 
at  the  imaginary  presence  of  someone;  then  with 
an  air  of  determination  and  with  a  grim  smile  on 
his  handsome  mouth  he  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  before 
him  and  began  to  write  to  his  son.  It  was  perhaps 
fortunate  that  he  did  not  take  out  and  complete  the 
letter  he  was  writing  earlier  in  the  evening. 


22  THE   RED  PAPER 

John  Wentworth  walked  up  the  avenue  with  his 
head  in  something  of  a  whirl.  He  had  received  a 
distinct  shock.  To  him  it  seemed  impossible  that 
his  father  could  have  laid  himself  open  to  blackmail, 
and  that  the  honorable  name  of  his  family  was  in 
danger  of  being  publicly  smirched.  The  young  man 
had  been  too  bewildered  to  inquire  into  the  nature 
of  the  fault  (he  dared  not  call  it  crime)  for  which 
his  father  suffered,  and  he  knew  that  even  had  he 
thought  to,  he  could  not  have  asked.  Unless  his 
father  voluntarily  revealed  this  mysterious  act  of  his 
youth,  he,  his  son,  could  not  force  his  confidence. 

And  to  John  Wentworth  it  made  little  difference 
whether  or  not  his  parent  was  guilty;  he  was  too 
loyal  to  his  blood,  too  proud  of  his  name,  to  fail  to 
spring  to  the  defense  of  that  which  was  dear  to  him. 
It  was  all  too  mysterious  for  his  open  nature.  He 
tried  to  throw  it  from  his  mind,  but  failed.  Like 
the  refrain  of  a  popular  air  which  sometimes  catches 
the  brain  and  echoes  through  it  until  it  becomes  un 
bearable,  the  words  " blackmail"  and  "crime"  sang  in 
John  Wentworth's  ears.  He  was  impatient  for  the 
morrow  when  he  hoped  he  would  know  all  and  could 
determine  how  to  act;  and  after  that — what? 

He  walked  along  like  a  man  in  a  dream  and  without 
more  definite  object  than  to  keep  moving.  Of  the 
presumably  important  subject — the  paper  concealed 
in  the  painting — he  did  not  think  at  all,  and  the 
name  of  Merridale  did  not  once  enter  his  head.  At 
Fifty-ninth  Street  he  turned  into  Central  Park  and 


A   TRAGEDY  23 

strode  through  the  black  shadows  without  realizing 
his  whereabouts.  What  paths  he  traced  he  never 
knew,  but  he  was  finally  brought  to  himself  by  a 
policeman,  who  demanded  his  business  there  at  that 
hour.  He  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  was  one  o'clock. 
Wentworth  came  to  himself.  "I  think  I  have  no 
business  here,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  realize  how 
late  it  was." 

"Walkin'  off  a  still,  like  as  not!  Don't  you  know 
where  you  are?"  asked  the  patrolman. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Wentworth,  looking  around. 

"Well,  yer  at  the  upper  end  of  Central  Park, 
and  you'll  get  right  out  into  the  street.  Who  are 
you,  anyhow?" 

"I  am  a  respectable  citizen,  at  least,"  returned 
the  young  man,  a  trifle  upset  in  his  dignity,  as  he 
produced  his  card  bearing  his  name  and  residence. 

"We'll  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  the  other.  "You 
had  better  be  home  and  in  bed.  Go  straight  ahead 
and  out,  me  man,  and  don't  let  me  see  you  around 
here  again." 

Indignant,  yet  feeling  a  vague  sense  of  humility, 
Wentworth  left  the  park  and  turned  east  to  Fifth 
Avenue.  From  there  he  strode  homeward,  his  brain 
in  better  order  from  his  encounter,  though  it  was 
far  from  being  settled.  Nearly  an  hour  later  he 
swung  into  his  own  street;  and  as  he  neared  his 
home,  he  saw  the  lights  in  his  father's  library  were 
still  burning  at  full  blast,  and  that  the  windows 
were  yet  wide  open.  There  was  something  in  the 


24  THE   RED   PAPER 

sight  that  hurried  his  heart  and  steps,  and  turning 
the  corner,  he  bounded  up  the  stoop. 

In  a  moment  more  he  was  in  the  hall,  dark  now, 
as  the  library  door  was  closed.  Feeling  his  way 
through  the  gloom,  Wentworth  reached  the  door, 
and,  without  the  formality  of  knocking,  threw  it 
open.  The  conditions  meeting  his  sight  caused  him 
to  stagger  back  with  a  quick  cry. 

At  first  glance  the  room  seemed  to  be  in  great 
confusion.  Papers  covered  the  carpet;  the  desk- 
chair  was  upset,  the  drawers  of  the  writing-table 
were  either  wide  open  or  pulled  out  entirely  and  lay 
on  the  floor.  In  front  of  the  open  fireplace  was 
the  body  of  Captain  Wentworth,  flat  on  his  back, 
arms  outstretched  and  collar  and  necktie  torn  as 
if  from  a  struggle. 

With  a  bound  John  was  at  his  father's  side;  but 
he  knew  the  old  gentleman  was  dead,  even  before 
he  placed  his  hand  over  the  still  heart.  When  he 
did  so  he  drew  it  back  quickly.  It  was  wet,  not 
with  blood,  but  with  ice-water.  The  captain's  shirt 
and  vest  were  soaked,  his  white  hair  was  matted  with 
water,  and  water  still  hung  in  drops  on  his  set  face, 
while  a  lump  of  ice,  which  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
melt,  lay  on  the  floor  a  few  feet  away. 

With  his  sight  quickened  by  the  conditions,  the 
young  man  noticed  that  the  cut-glass  ice-pitcher 
lay  on  the  floor  near  the  body  of  his  father,  and  that 
a  little  beyond  the  carpet  was  black  and  soaking  with 
water.  On  the  body  itself  there  were  no  immediately 


A  TRAGEDY  25 

discernible  marks  of  violence  beyond  the  torn  collar 
and  necktie,  and  that  ordinary  robbery  had  not  been 
the  motive  of  assault — if  assault  there  had  been— 
was  plain  from  the  fact  that  the  captain's  heavy  gold 
watch-chain  and  watch  were  still  on  his  person,  and 
his  open  coat  gave  no  evidence  of  his  pockets  having 
been  rifled. 

With  each  nerve  in  his  robust  body  tingling,  yet 
with  a  calmness  for  which  he  never  could  account, 
John  raised  himself  and  looked  about.  A  single 
glance  showed  the  young  man,  whose  every  sense 
had  suddenly  become  abnormally  acute,  that  beyond 
the  capsized  pivot-chair,  the  scattered  papers,  the 
open  drawers,  and  the  misplaced  ice-pitcher,  there  was 
nothing  about  the  room  that  indicated  any  unusual 
happening. 

With  a  comprehensive  glance  he  took  in  the  picture 
containing  the  hidden  paper;  but,  like  its  fellows, 
it  had  been  undisturbed.  He  stepped  to  the  desk. 
In  the  center  of  the  blotting-pad  lay  the  paper  on 
which  the  captain  had  been  writing.  The  pen  lay 
across  it;  it,  at  least,  had  been  overlooked  or  had  not 
been  considered  worthy  of  violent  treatment.  John 
Wentworth  picked  it  up  and  read  mechanically  and 
with  little  understanding: 

My  Son: 

I  have  determined  at  once  to  set  down,  in  their  proper 
order,  the  events  that  led  to  our  conversation  this  evening. 
I  write  now  as  I  know  I  shall  not  sleep  until  the  matter 


26  THE  RED   PAPER 

is  off  my  mind.  As  for  the  paper,  the  meaning  of 
which  I  will  explain  to  you  after  you  have  read  this, 
I  wish  to  impress  on  you  that  Grace  Merridale  will  be 
of  age  in  December  of  this  year,  and  I  have — 

Here  the  writing  abruptly  ended,  and  the  captain 
had  evidently  carefully  put  down  his  pen.  The  cause 
of  the  interruption  was  not  clear,  but  the  surrounding 
confusion  partly  explained  it.  Had  the  young  man 
lifted  the  broad  pink  blotting  pad  he  would  have 
seen  the  other  letter  his  father  had  been  writing 
and  had  concealed  just  before  his  son's  advent  into 
the  library  a  few  hours  before;  and  in  that  event 
he  might  have  had  his  eyes  suddenly  opened.  But 
for  John  Wentworth  the  time  was  not  yet  ripe. 
,;•%  As  he  read  the  words,  the  last  ever  written  by  his 
parent  who  lay  dead  on  the  floor,  he  let  the  paper  fall 
to  the  pad  while  a  sudden  realization  of  his  own 
calmness  and  unreasonable  inaction  took  possession 
of  him,  and  his  passion  rose  and  surged  through  him 
with  volcanic  energy.  Having  a  fine  instinct  for 
the  requirements  of  the  law,  he  disturbed  nothing; 
but  with  a  wild  glance  about  him,  he  sprang  to  the 
window,  stepped  to  the  balcony  outside,  and  sent 
his  voice  into  the  night : 

"Police!    Murder!    Help!" 

Then  in  an  ecstasy  of  action  he  tore  from  the 
library,  and  upstairs  three  steps  at  a  time,  to  where 
Thomas,  the  butler,  had  his  room  on  the  top  floor. 
The  faithful  old  servant  nearly  fell  out  of  bed  at  the 


A  TRAGEDY  27 

thunderous  summons  that  roused  him,  but  before 
he  could  comprehend  more  than  the  words:  "The 
captain  is  murdered  in  the  library!"  Wentworth  was 
downstairs  again  and  at  the  telephone,  demanding 
police  headquarters.  That  done,  he  so  far  collapsed 
as  to  sink  into  the  leather  chair  in  the  library;  and 
when  the  police  finally  arrived,  being  let  in  by  the 
silent  Thomas,  they  found  him  staring  at  his  father's 
body. 

Three  hours  later  John  Wentworth  and  Police 
Inspector  Barrow  sat  together  in  the  closed  parlor, 
a  single  gas  jet  in  the  crystal  chandelier  barely 
lighting  the  great  room.  Gray  dawn  was  stealing 
through  the  windows  and  still  the  house  seemed 
full  of  strange  people  who  passed  through  the  hall 
and  up  and  down  the  front  stairs.  In  the  mixed 
light  the  young  man's  face  had  the  color  of  ashes; 
he  looked  years  older  as  he  crouched  in  the  depths 
of  a  Turkish  chair,  his  white  hands  folded  and  nerve 
less.  The  official,  with  another  chair  drawn  close, 
faced  him  squarely. 

"You  have  told  me  you  believe  your  father  to 
have  been  murdered,"  remarked  the  policeman, 
after  a  close  inspection  of  the  face  before  him,  and 
with  a  hard,  business-like  air  that  was  anything 
but  soothing  to  the  jaded  system  of  the  other. 

"I  told  you  so;  and  you  can  judge  the  rest  from 
appearances,"  was  the  weary  answer. 

"There  is  a  well-worn  adage  that  appearances  are 
often  deceitful,"  was  the  prompt  return.  "Aside 


28  THE   RED   PAPER 

from  the  looks  of  the  room,  what  makes  you  think 
there  has  been  foul  play?" 

Wentworth  unclasped  his  hands  and  passed  them 
over  his  heavy  eyes  as  if  to  clear  his  vision.  "Noth 
ing  tangible,  in  fact,"  he  slowly  answered,  as  if 
struggling  to  hold  his  senses.  "I  only  know  my 
father  had  an  enemy.  He  told  me  of  it  to-night; 
evidently  a  bitter  enemy.  It  was  the  first  I  was 
aware  of  such  a  thing." 

''Any  name?" 

"I  did  not  ask  him  for  the  name." 

"Any  threats?" 

"Not  against  his  life,  directly,  but  against  his 
reputation.  My  father  told  me  he  was  being  per 
secuted.  You  saw  the  few  lines  addressed  to  me; 
he  told  me  he  would  reduce  all  the  facts  to  writing; 
he  evidently  went  about  it  at  once — and  was  inter 
rupted  by  death.  His  statement  to  me  had  been  a 
stunning  blow." 

"I  presume  so.  And  where  were  you  to-night, 
sir?"  The  inspector  fixed  his  hard  eyes  on  the 
young  man. 

Wentworth  met  the  look  with  the  vacant  stare 
of  a  sleep-walker.  "I  have  no  idea  at  what  time  I 
left  the  house,"  he  answered.  "It  must  have  been 
near  eleven  o'clock.  I  had  been  to  see  a  friend  off 
on  the  ten  o'clock  train.  I  then  came  home  and 
talked  with  the  captain.  After  that  I  have  no 
clear  recollection  of  where  I  went,  but  at  one  o'clock 
I  was  at  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street  and  Central 


A   TRAGEDY  29 

Park.  I  had  been  disturbed — shocked — and  must 
have  walked  far.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  park  a 
patrolman  stopped  me.  I  gave  him  my  card.  You 
may  verify  this  without  trouble." 

Inspector  Barrow  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  took 
a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and  lighted  it,  puffing  slowly. 
"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments'  contempla 
tion  of  the  man  before  him,  "you  are  rather  too 
played  out  to  talk  to-night,  but  it  may  be  or  may 
not  be  to  your  satisfaction  that  in  regard  to  your 
father  we  see  no  definite  sign  of  foul  play." 

"No  sign  of  foul  play!"  exclaimed  the  other, 
lifting  himself  from  his  state  of  semi-lethargy. 

"No,  sir.  The  doctor  who  has  been  examining 
the  remains  of  Captain  Wentworth  reports  no  marks 
of  violence  on  the  body  of  the  deceased — none  but 
a  slight  scratch  on  his  throat,  probably  made  by 
himself  as  he  tore  away  his  collar  in  a  struggle  for 
air.  You  have  said  he  was  suffering  from  a  serious 
heart  difficulty,  but  that  remains  for  the  corcmer 
to  determine  by  autopsy;  my  business  deals  with 
present  appearances." 

"Would  he  tear  open  the  drawers  in  his  desk 
in  a  struggle  for  air?"  asked  the  young  man,  now 
thoroughly  aroused.  "Think  one  moment.  This 
house  is  on  the  corner;  only  a  tall  iron  fence  separates 
it  from  the  side  street.  An  athletic  man — especially 
a  desperate  one — -could  scale  it  with  little  difficulty. 
The  library  is  in  the  rear,  the  windows  had  been 
left  open,  and  the  balcony  was  easily  accessible  from 


30  THE   RED   PAPER 

the  yard.  At  night,  when  the  house  is  closed,  the 
windows  are  secured  by  shutters,  and  heavily 
barred  on  account  of  the  exposed  position.  To 
night  they  were  open,  as  I  know. 

"Again.  Would  my  father  flood  himself  with 
water  in  one  spot — you  saw  the  carpet — then  go 
to  another  part  of  the  room  and  set  down  the  ice- 
pitcher?  If  struggling  for  air,  would  he  attempt 
extra  exertion?  Pull  out  drawers — scatter  papers- 
carry  a  heavy  pitcher  from  the  stand?  This  thing 
happened  immediately  before  I  returned;  the  ice 
had  not  yet  melted  on  the  carpet.  You  have  several 
detectives  here?" 

"  Of  course." 

"Then  let  them  look  into  it.  I  am  in  the  dark 
as  to  all  the  facts,  but,  by  Heaven!  had  I  the  name 
of  the  captain's  blackmailer  I  think  I  might  lay  my 
finger  on  his  murderer." 

The  inspector's  face  showed  a  new  and  sudden 
interest.  "Blackmailed!  For  what?" 

"I  would  to  God  I  could  tell  you.  I  don't  know. 
I  understood  that  all  was  to  be  put  in  writing." 

"And  you  have  not  the  name  of  the  man?" 

"Sir,  I  have  no  idea  of  it  nor  of  his  whereabouts. 
This  thing  came  on  me  like  a  clap  of  thunder." 

Wentworth  got  to  his  feet  as  he  spoke,  clutching 
the  back  of  the  chair  to  steady  himself.  The  detective 
eyed  him  coldly  as  he,  too,  got  up  and  moved  toward 
the  door.  "Well,"  he  returned,  "the  matter  is  now 
up  to  the  coroner.  A  man  may  be  blackmailed, 


A   TRAGEDY  31 

and  die  during  the  process,  but  not  necessarily  by 
the  hands  of  his  blackmailer.  So  far  as  I  am  at 
present  concerned  the  matter  is  simple.  Of  course 
there  is  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  about  the  cause  of  your 
father's  death;  but  whether  or  not  it  was  the  result 
of  foul  play — of  crime — must  be  decided  by  the 
coroner's  jury.  Nothing  has  been  missed?" 

"Nothing  that  I  can  determine." 

"Then,  if  a  crime  has  been  committed,  robbery 
was  not  the  motive.  You  see  the  murder  theory  is 
rather  forced,  young  man,  and  perhaps  fortunately 
for  you.  Had  I  held  it,  I  should  be  obliged  to  arrest 
both  you  and  your  servant.  But  what  do  you  know 
about  your  butler?" 

"About  Thomas?  Why,  I  would  trust  him  with 
everything — as  I  would  have  trusted  my  father. 
He  came  to  us  the  year  I  was  born — twenty-nine 
years  ago.  He  loved  my  father — as  my  father  loved 
him.  He  is  more  than  a  servant.  As  for  myself, 
I  hardly  think  I  would  contradict  your  theory,  if 
I  was  a  guilty  party." 

"That  very  fact  is  your  best  hold,  my  friend," 
returned  the  officer,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob 
of  the  door.  "This  will  be  all  for  to-night.  I  shall 
leave  men  in  charge  of  the  house  until  the  coroner 
arrives.  Now,  if  you  take  my  advice  you  will  get 
yourself  outside  of  a  hooker  of  whiskey,  and  turn 
in.  You  are  done  up,  sir,  and  no  wonder.  By  to 
morrow  you  will  look  at  matters  in  a  different  light." 

Wentworth   was   about   to   reply   when   a   knock 


32  THE  RED   PAPER 

sounded  on  the  panel  of  the  heavy  mahogany  door. 
The  inspector  threw  it  open  and  disclosed  a  young 
fellow  standing  in  the  hall.  He  was  a  stocky  youth, 
with  a  fresh  and  pleasant  face. 

"What  is  it?"    sharply  demanded  the  officer. 

"I  would  like  to  speak  to  Mr.  Wentworth  for  a 
moment/'  was  the  answer. 

"Who  are  you,  sir?" 

"I  am  from  the  Central  Detective  Bureau." 

"Oh,  you  are!  Well,  you  had  better  cork  your 
self  until  morning.  I  don't  think  Mr.  Wentworth 
can  stand  anything  more.  You  see  his  condition." 

And  it  was  apparent  that  the  bereaved  man  had 
about  reached  his  limit.  Excitement,  shock  and 
lack  of  rest  had  sapped  his  strength.  He  tottered 
and  leaned  against  the  wall  and  might  have  fallen 
to  the  floor  only  that  the  watchful  Thomas  glided 
noiselessly  past  the  policeman,  and,  putting  his  arm 
around  his  young  master,  led  him  away. 

"You  are  right,  Inspector,"  said  the  strange 
detective.  "I'll  wait  until  morning — though  I  would 
rather  see  him  to-night."  He  looked  after  the  old 
servant  helping  Wentworth  upstairs. 

"What's  the  lay,  young  fellow?"  asked  the  in 
spector,  as  the  two  disappeared  above.  The  other 
looked  the  official  squarely  in  the  face,  and  laughed. 

"Do  you  discover  any  verdancy  in  either  of  my 
optics,  sir?"  he  asked,  opening  wide  his  blue  eyes. 
And  with  that  he  swung  his  back  to  the  other,  and 
walked  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER  III 
A  LETTER  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

IT  WAS  three  weeks  later. 
John  Wentworth  sat   in  his  apartments  in 
the  Van  Dyke  studios,  palette  and  brushes  in 
hand,   but  he   was  not  working;    instead,   he   was 
gazing  vacantly  at  the  half-finished  painting  before 
him,   the  abstraction  in  his  eyes  showing  that  his 
thoughts  were  far  from  his  surroundings. 

The  studio  itself  differed  in  no  wise  from  others  in 
its  general  character,  save,  perhaps,  in  that  it  was 
more  luxurious  than  most,  while  it  lacked  the  indefinite 
note  of  professionalism.  There  were  numerous  rugs 
on  its  broad  floor,  numerous  hangings  on  the  walls, 
the  latter  being  covered  with  sketches  and  a  number 
of  really  fine  photographs.  Books  were  strewn  about 
in  profusion;  a  large  camera  faced  a  clouded  back 
ground,  and  near  it  were  a  number  of  photographic 
accessories. 

In  a  corner  was  a  rack  of  fencing-foils,  well  used, 
together  with  boxing-gloves,  Indian-clubs,  and  the 
impedimenta  of  an  athlete.  There  were  rug-covered 
divans  and  easy-chairs,  and  over  all  an  air  of  careless 

33 


34  THE   BED   PAPER 

comfort,  which  was  not  dissipated  by  the  hard,  cold 
light  which  fell  from  the  immense  but  partly  cur 
tained  north  window. 

From  this  studio  opened  two  smaller  rooms;  one 
elaborately  fitted  as  a  photographic  dark-room,  the 
other  recently  furnished  as  a  bedchamber.  For  to 
Wentworth  had  come  the  realization  of  the  fleeting 
consciousness  of  immanent  change  which  had  beset 
him  at  his  last  interview  with  his  father.  He  was 
now  living  in  his  studio. 

The  past  days  had  been  trying  ones  for  the  young 
man,  the  fact  showing  on  his  pale,  drawn  face. 
But  no  weakness  was  apparent.  Under  his  small 
mustache  the  lines  of  his  mouth  remained  firm, 
and  his  broad  chin  was  aggressively  strong;  only 
his  dark  eyes  and  unusual  pallor  showed  the  effects 
of  his  trouble.  And  he  was  far  from  being  satis 
fied.  To  him  life  had  flattened  out,  at  least  tempo 
rarily,  and  human  acumen  appeared  a  thing  to  be 
scoffed  at.  For  after  a  post-mortem  examination  of 
his  father's  body,  and  a  further  searching  by  the 
police  of  every  circumstance  concerning  Captain 
Wentworth's  sudden  demise  the  jury  had  brought 
in  a  verdict  of  death  from  heart-disease — progressive 
mitral  insufficiency — and  not  a  soul  was  implicated, 
even  in  theory.  The  heart  difficulty  was  indis 
putable;  and  though  there  was  no  explanation  for 
the  state  of  the  library  on  the  night  of  the  captain's 
death,  there  was  nothing  definite  in  the  minds  of 
the  jury  to  point  to  foul  play.  The  general  excite- 


A  LETTER  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES  35 

ment  occasioned  by  the  tragedy  in  high  life  had  run 
its  course  and  subsided,  and  the  public,  possibly 
disappointed  at  the  lack  of  sensational  features,  was 
awaiting  some  new  tragedy  in  some  new  quarter. 

Had  not  the  young  man's  ample  fortune  been 
independent  of  his  father's  estate  he  would  have 
found  himself  in  a  serious  position  at  this  time; 
for.  though  the  captain's  will  gave  everything,  without 
reservation,  to  his  son,  who  was  also  sole  executor 
of  the  estate,  investigation  soon  showed  that  the 
old  gentleman  had  but  few  resources  left,  the  very 
mansion  in  which  he  had  lived  being  so  heavily 
mortgaged  that  there  would  be  little  equity  left  for 
the  heir;  and  the  Wentworth  residence,  with  most 
of  its  contents,  had  been  offered  for  sale,  only  the 
faithful  Thomas  remaining  as  care-taker.  What  fur 
niture  the  young  man  had  desired  to  retain  was 
moved  to  the  studio,  together  with  all  the  pictures 
and  bric-a-brac.  Several  unopened  cases  stood  in 
the  passage,  but  the  painting  containing  the  hidden 
paper  was  boxed  and  in  John's  bedroom. 

He  had  taken  it  down  and  packed  it  with  his  own 
hands,  but  had  not  attempted  to  break  open  the 
brown  paper  stretched  and  pasted  over  the  back; 
events  had  moved  so  swiftly  and  his  mind  had  been 
so  engrossed  by  important  matters  that  he  had 
scarcely  thought  of  the  red  paper  or  of  the  girl  to 
whom  it  belonged. 

As  for  his  father's  trusteeship  for  Grace  Merridale, 
Wentworth  had  placed  the  whole  matter  in  the 


36  THE   RED   PAPER 

hands  of  a  lawyer  who  had  presumably  notified  the 
lady  in  question  and  had  promised  to  communicate 
with  John  as  soon  as  she  was  located;  the  last  not 
an  easy  matter  as  no  address  could  be  found  more 
definite  than  that  of  Mason  County,  Texas. 

And  it  was  fairly  evident  that  Captain  Wentwortlr  s 
trust  had  not  been  onerous  since  there  was  no  trace 
of  any  correspondence  between  him  and  his  ward, 
a  fact  perhaps  explained  by  the  smallncss  of  the 
amount  of  property  involved.  In  this  the  red  paper 
was  not  included,  and  for  some  reason  unrecognized 
by  himself  Wentworth  said  nothing  about  the  mys 
terious  document  to  his  lawyer.  He  looked  upon 
the  delivery  of  the  paper  as  aside  from  legal  pro 
cedure;  to  him  it  was  a  matter  of  honor  that  he 
should  personally  place  the  paper  in  the  hands  of  the 
one  to  whom  it  belonged.  His  father  had  requested 
it,  and  that  was  sufficient  for  him.  Any  further 
interest  in  the  lady  was  entirely  lacking,  and  it  was 
only  for  the  wish  to  carry  out  his  dead  parent's 
desire  that  he  cared  a  fig  for  her  whereabouts. 

The  young  man  had  not  been  bored  to  death  by 
condolences,  spoken  or  written.  Men  of  his  tem 
perament  do  not  invite  many  intimates,  and  the 
world  is  not  inclined  to  grieve  over  one  who  does 
not  bid  for  its  lamentations.  In  this  case  the  bereaved 
seemed  to  have  armed  himself  in  a  hard  shell  of 
reserve,  and  bore  his  trouble  alone,  and  society  con 
sidered  him  cold. 

But  he  was  not  cold;   he  was  only  discriminate. 


A   LETTER  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    37 

He  cared  nothing  for  lip-service,  but  he  would  have 
given  much  to  have  had  his  one  intimate  friend— 
his  old  college  chum,  Tom  Harper,  with  him  during 
his  trials.  Harper  was  a  rather  debonair  bachelor 
of  Wentworth's  own  age,  and  the  two  held  similar 
tastes.  By  profession  he  was  a  mining  engineer, 
though  of  slight  practise,  and  possessor  of  sufficient 
wealth,  and  larger  prospects,  to  kill  ordinary  ambition. 
The  two  men  were  usual!}'  inseparable. 

It  was  Tom  Harper  for  whom  Wentworth  was 
now  longing,  and  it  was  not  an  indication  of  deplorable 
weakness  in  him  tint  he  wished  to  unburden  himself 
to  the  only  man  in  the  world  in  whom  he  had  perfect 
confidence.  But  Harper  was  on  a  hunting  trio  and 
could  not  be  located.  For  himself,  Wentworth  was 
unused  to  business  matters;  his  friend  could  have 
helped  by  his  advice,  and,  more  than  that,  by  the 
comfort  of  his  presence.  It  had  been  a  weary  time 
for  the  lonely  man;  the  mere  shock  of  his  father's 
death,  without  the  attending  circumstances,  would 
have  been  enough;  and  the  trace  of  femininity  in 
him,  which  is  in  all  males  worth}'  of  the  name 
of  man,  cried  out  for  a  sympathy  that  mere  com 
panions  were  incapable  of  satisfying. 

Wentworth,  brush  in  hand,  came  back  from  his 
wool-gathering  expedition  and  looked  around  the  well- 
filled  but  silent  room,  self-disgust  written  on  his  face; 
then,  with  an  impatient,  shrug  of  his  broad  shoulders, 
he  threw  down  his  palette,  speared  his  brushes  into 
the  vase  at  his  side,  and  gave  the  easel  a  kick. 


38  THE   KED   PAPER 

"Damn  it!"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "I  can't  work! 
I  can  do  nothing!  I  have  no  object  in  life  but  to 
exist!  I  live  on  the  labor  of  others!  I  am  a  cursed 
social  incubus— a  man  without  a  motive." 

lie  had  barely  realized  that  he  was  protesting 
aloud,  when  a  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  and  with 
the  privilege  of  his  position,  Thomas  entered  without 
ceremony.  As  regularly  as  the  day  came  the  old 
man  went  to  the  young  one. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Thomas." 

"Good-afternoon,  Master  John.  A  letter  and  a 
telegram,  sir."  He  handed  out  the  white  and  the 
yellow  envelopes,  and  stood,  deferentially,  hat  in 
hand. 

"Is  that  all?" 

''Yes,  sir.     Is  there  anything  I  can  do,  sir?" 

"Xo,  Thomas.     Anything  new?  " 

''A  gentleman  called  last  evening,  sir.  He  was 
surprised  to  find  that-- 

"Yes — yes.     Go  on." 

"He  inquired  your  address,  sir,  and  said  he  would 
communicate  with  you  at  once." 

"Xo  name?" 

"Yes,  sir;  Merridale,  sir." 

"Merridale!  A  man  by  the  name  of  Merridale!" 
John's  eyebrows  contracted;  the  name  roused  a  host 
of  painful  memories. 

"Yes,  sir.  Well-put-up  man,  sir,  about  middle 
age.  Was  shocked  to  hear  of  your  father." 

"He  left  no  other  word?" 


A   LETTER   AXD   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    39 

"Xo;  sir." 

"That  will  do.  Thomas." 

The  old  man  bowed  and  looked  about  the  dis 
ordered  studio;  then,  moving  softly,  began  putting 
it  to  rights. 

Without  seeming  to  notice  the  butler's  presence, 
John  opened  the  telegram,  his  face  clearing  as  he 
read: 

Just  from  the  woods.  Learned  of  your  awful 
trouble.  Be  with  you  day  after  to-morrow. 

Harper. 

He  laid  the  telegram  aside  and  tore  open  the  letter. 
The  writing  was  in  a  strange,  masculine  hand,  but 
the  signature  at  the  bottom  of  the  short  message 
caught  his  eye.  It  was  the  name  of  the  man  Thomas 
had  but  just  told  him  about.  The  note  ran  thus: 

Mr.  John  Wentworth. 
My  very  dear  Sir: 

I  knew  your  father  and  loved  him,  even  as  David 
loved  him.  On  my  call  at  your  late  residence  I  was 
inexpressibly  shocked  to  learn  of  the  captain's  sudden 
death.  It  is  not  in  my  nature  to  volunteer  a  formal 
condolence,  when  condolence  to  you  would  be  useless,  and 
it  is  not  for  that  purpose  I  write.  I  had  been  expecting 
to  hear  from  my  old  friend  on  a  matter  of  business, 
relating  to  his  trust  for  my  niece,  and  now  ask  you,  his 


40  THE   RED    PAPER 

son,  to  call  on  me.     If  you  can  make  it  convenient  to 
call  on  me  at  an  early  date  I  will  esteem  ii  a  great  favor. 
I  am,  sir,  sincerely  yours. 

Tliaddcus  Mcrridale.. 

Affixed  was  an  address  in  West  Eighty-fourth 
Street. 

The  only  unexplainable  matter  relating  to  the  letter 
was  the  fact  that  young  Wentworth  was  unaware 
that  David  Mcrridale  ever  had  a  brother.  Surely 
the  captain  had  never  mentioned  him  as  existing, 
much  le.ss  as  an  intimate  friend.  Yet  it  was  possible 
that  an  intimacy  on  a  business  basis  had  joined  them, 
and  that  the  word  "love"  was  but  a  concession  to 
the  circumstance  of  the  captain's  death  and  his 
son's  state  of  mind.  That  there  was,  or  had  been, 
a  maiden  sister  living  somewhere  in  Texas  John  had 
heard,  but  that  was  all.  He  knew  none  of  the 
parties,  and  they  had  no  interest  for  him. 

But,  interested  or  not,  the  name  of  Merridale 
demanded  consideration,  and  it  took  no  second 
thought  to  decide  the  young  man  to  accede  to  the 
request  of  the  writer  of  the  letter.  A  friend  of  his 
late  father  couk.1  not  be  neglected;  indeed,  Wcntworth 
looked  forward  to  meeting  the  man  who  had  stood 
so  close  to  his  parent.  His  really  affectionate  nature 
was  stimulated  by  the  prospect. 

And  in  his  present  unsettled  state  of  mind  he 
welcomed  an  excuse  to  quit  his  useless  work;  he 
would  go  at  once,  and  glad  of  having  an  object  to 


A   LETTER   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    41 

determine  his  movements,  inconsequential  as  that 
object  might  be,  and  relieved  by  the  prospect  of 
Harper's  early  return,  he  put  on  his  hat,  left  Thomas 
in  the  studio,  and  went  out.  Taking  an  elevated 
train,  he  rode  up-town,  and  in  a  short  time  turned 
into  West  Eighty-fourth  Street. 

That  thoroughfare,  bet  ween  Columbus  and  Amster 
dam  Avenues,  is  a  solid  block  of  flats,  not  of  a  low 
order,  but  far  from  being  classed  as  high.  The 
asphalt  pavement  swarmed  with  noisy  children  at 
play,  and  the  canon  of  brick  and  brown  stone  echoed 
with  the  cries  of  hawkers.  Wcntworth  found  the 
building  he  was  in  search  of,  the  cheap  ornatcness 
of  its  vestibule  and  the  scattered  remains  of  trades 
man's  circulars  on  the  soiled  tiled  floor  impressing 
him  unfavorably.  But  there  was  the  name  of 
" Merridale, "  written  in  lead-pencil  on  a  coarse  card 
thrust  into  the  narrow  slot  above  a  broken  letter-box. 

As  Wentworth  pressed  the  tarnished  electric  button 
and  waited  for  the  not  over-clean  glass  door  to  open, 
he  noticed  the  fact  that  the  first  and  second  flats 
were  to  let  and  untenantcd.  The  Merridales  occupied 
the  third. 

In  a  few  moments  the  latch  clicked,  the  door 
swung  open  and  the  young  man  walked  up  the  shabby 
stairs  and  through  a  gloomy  hall.  He  did  not  have 
occasion  to  ring  at  the  third  flat.  As  he  reached  the 
top  step,  the  hall  door  leading  to  the  apartment 
was  opened  by  a  man  who  took  John's  proffered  card, 
stepped  back  into  the  light  to  read  it,  then  came  for- 


42  THE   RED    PAPER 

ward,  both  hands  outstretched  in  an  effusive  welcome. 

"My  dear  sir,  I  am  overjoyed!  I  did  not  look 
for  such  a  prompt  reply  to  my  request!  Come  in, 
come  in." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  parlor.  It  was  a  meagerly 
furnished  apartment,  and  John's  quick  eye  caught 
the  painful  newness  of  its  contents.  Everything  was 
shop-fresh,  from  the  crimson  plush  sofa  and  chairs 
with  the  marks  of  the  varnish  brush  on  them,  to  the 
gaudy  but  cheap  rug  which  but  partly  covered  the 
stained  pine  floor.  The  papered  walls  were  absolutely 
barren  of  pictures,  and  there  were  no  ornaments  on 
the  glossy  cabinet  mantel  of  imitation  rose\vood. 
The  only  feature  relieving  the  unattractive  and 
unhomelike  interior  was  the  blue  pall  of  cigar  smoke 
that  hung  on  the  heavy  air. 

To  the  visitor  it  was  quite  evident  that  the  Merri- 
dales  (if  there  were  more  than  one)  had  uncultured 
tastes,  had  but  recently  moved  into  the  place,  and 
considering  the  surroundings,  were  not  cursed  with 
an  over-plusage  of  this  world's  wealth. 

Beyond  the  parlor  Wentworth  caught  sight  of  an 
alcove  room  in  which  was  a  disordered  bed,  several 
corded  trunks,  and  an  uncurtained  window  opening 
on  a  broad  shaft.  Later  he  had  reason  to  remember 
these  details. 

"You  will  pardon  the  bareness  and  general  unpre- 
paredness  of  these  apartments,"  began  his  host  as 
he  noticed  Wentworth's  comprehensive  glance.  The 
voice  was  smooth  and  well  bred,  the  man's  accent 


A   LETTER  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    43 

smacking  strongly  of  the  South.  "It  belongs  to  a 
friend,"  he  continued;  "I  have  been  here  but  a  day 
or  two  and  hardly  looked  for  you  so  soon.  I  am 
charmed  to  make  your  distinguished  acquaintance, 
sir."  The  last  word  was  pronounced  suh. 

"No  apology  is  necessary,"  returned  the  other,  as 
he  looked  at  the  stocky  figure  before  him,  marking 
the  sun-browned  complexion,  the  sun-bleached  hair, 
and  large,  slightly  yellowed  teeth.  Merridale  ap 
peared  to  be  between  forty-five  and  fifty  years  old; 
nicotine  had  stained  his  small,  gray  mustache  until 
its  color  made  an  excellent  match  for  his  teeth  and 
skin,  and  there  was  something  indefinable  about 
him  that  checked  Wentworth's  previous  readiness  to 
meet  him  with  enthusiasm. 

He  did  not  like  the  narrowness  and  furtive  glance 
of  his  host's  light-blue  eyes,  nor  was  he  prepossessed 
by  his  fulsome  manner,  and  too  ready  laugh  when 
there  had  been  nothing  to  laugh  at.  For  himself, 
he  never  smiled  without  cause,  and  then  the  smile 
usually  became  a  passport  to  good  will.  He  waited 
for  Merridale  to  lead.  If  this  interview  should  be 
of  a  kind  that  appeared  to  concern  his  late  father's 
business  interests  he  would  promptly  refer  the  man 
to  his  lawyer;  something  about  the  place,  or  about 
his  host  who  was  now  pulling  violently  on  a  half- 
consumed  cigar,  or  both,  made  him  anxious  to  finish 
his  call  and  get  from  the  house  as  soon  as  possible. 

And  yet  he  could  determine  no  reason  for  this 
feeling,  save,  perhaps,  that  Merridale  was  not  of  his 


44  THE   RED   PAPER 

class.  He  wondered  how  his  father,  whom  he  knew 
to  have  been  the  soul  of  prejudice,  could  have  become 
intimate  with  a  man  so  utterly  lacking  in  savoir  fairc. 

His  host  walked  to  the  door  leading  into  the  private 
hall  and  closed  it  with  considerable  violence,  even  in 
this  slight  way  showing  his  lack  of  gentle  breeding. 
Evidently  his  smooth  voice  somewhat  belied  his 
character. 

"You  smoke?"  he  asked,  offering  a  mate  to  the 
heavy  cigar  between  his  full  lips. 

"Thank  you—not  now,"  said  Wentworth,  seating 
himself  on  the  hard  sofa. 

"Xo!  Really,  I  couldn't  live  without  it!"  was 
Merridale's  return,  as  lie  drew  a  chair  before  his 
guest;  drew  it  so  close  that  the  knees  of  the  two 
almost  touched.  "IJacl  habit,  though!  Bad  for 
young  men,  but —let's  get  right  to  the  point!  That's 
my  idea  of  business,  even  among  friends.  Eh? 
Ain't  I  right?" 

Wentworth  made  no  answer. 

"I  think,  you  being  a  sensible  man.  I  won't  have 
to  detain  you  long,"  went  on  ?\Ierr;d:i'e,  without 
appearing  to  notice  his  visitor's  lack  of  cordiality, 
and  himself  assuming  an  air  of  friendly  confidence. 
"We'll  jump  right  into  the  middle  of  it  with  both 
feet,  as  we  say  in  Texas.  \ou  see,  sir,''  touching 
Wentworth  on  the  knee  wiih  a  rather  pudgy  hand, 
"I  sent  for  you  in  the  interest  of  my  niece." 

Wentworth  looked  at  him  will:  sudden  interest. 
"Grace  Merridale?"  he  asked. 


A  LETTER  AND   ITS  CONSEQUENCES    45 

"Exactly !  Grace  Merridale."  This  with  a  pursing 
of  the  lips  which  had  ceased  to  smile,  and  a  profound 
inclination  of  the  head.  "The — er — trust  of  your 
father  has  passed,  of  course!  May  I  ask  who  holds 
the  papers?" 

"My  lawyer." 

"Doubtless!     All  of  them?" 

"All  of  a  legal  nature." 

"Precisely!  Really  the  amount  is  small — too  small 
to  be  seriously  considered  by  Grace,  who  is  well-to-do 
in  right  of  her  mother.  My  poor  brother  was  not 
fortunate." 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  amount,  nor  of  the  business, 
in  any  way,"  returned  Wentworth.  He  hesitated  a 
moment,  and,  as  the  other  appeared  to  be  cogitating 
he  added:  "By  the  way,  sir;  you  say  you  are  David 
Merridale's  brother.  I  was  not  aware  that  David 
had  a  brother;  certainly  my  father  never  mentioned 
him  to  me." 

The  smoking  man  took  a  quick  glance  at  the  speaker, 
then  leaned  forward  and  again  touched  him  on  the 
knee.  His  voice  was  somewhat  lowered  as  he  said: 

"Naturally.  But  David  was  my  half-brother  only. 
His  mother,  a  widow,  married  her  first  husband's 
cousin,  of  the  same  name.  I  am  the  perhaps  regret 
table  result  of  their  union.  Then  there  was  a  family 
difference — a  difficulty.  Your  father  understood  it. 
Ah,  sir,  your  father  was  one  man  in  ten  thousand!" 
He  leaned  back  as  he  uttered  the  last  words. 

Wentworth  was  not  impressed  by  the  platitude, 


46  THE   RED   PAPER 

and  the  oily  voice  did  not  please  him.  The  ridiculous 
inference  that  any  man  could  be  other  than  one  in 
ten  thousand  caused  him  to  smile  slightly,  a  relaxation 
which  probably  encouraged  his  host.  But  the  younger 
man  now  wished  to  terminate  the  interview  which 
seemed  to  lead  to  nothing.  Somehow  he  felt  uncom 
fortable  in  his  host's  presence.  "But  you  were 
speaking  of  the  papers.  What  of  them?"  he  asked, 
with  the  ease  of  bearing  of  one  who  understood 
himself. 

"Ah,  yes — the  legal  documents!  I — er — spoke  of 
them  merely  by  the  way;  they  do  not  interest  me, 
being  of  small  value.  But  David  told  me  of  a 
certain  paper  which  he  wished — which  he  had,  or — 
er — was  about  to  place  in  your  father's  hands  to 
be  given  to  Grace  on  or  about  her  twenty-first 
birthday.  It  was  to  be  quite  outside  of  the  legal 
trust,  I  was  led  to  understand.  Does  it  happen 
that — er — you  have  ever  heard  of  it?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Wentworth,  with  an  involuntary 
stiffening  of  his  mental  attitude. 

"A — er — red  paper?  A — er — of  no  value  except 
to  her?" 

"Yes.     Do  you  know  its  nature?" 

"No.     Do  you?" 

"I  do  not." 

"  Strange,  is  it  not?  "  The  man  laughed  awkwardly, 
but  to  the  astute  young  fellow  was  conveyed  the 
idea  that  Mr.  Merridale  was  pleased  at  his 
ignorance. 


A   LETTER   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    47 

"Hardly  strange,  since  I  only  knew  of  the  paper's 
existence  on  the  night  of  my  father's  death." 

"Ah!  Well,  it  was  this  pa—  He  stopped 
abruptly,  for  at  that  moment  the  room  door  opened. 
John  looked  up. 

A  lady  stood  in  the  doorway — a  young  lady, 
dressed  for  the  street.  Her  figure,  clad  in  a  tailor- 
made  costume,  was  tall  and  of  faultless  proportions, 
and  her  face  was  striking — not  alone  from  its  beauty, 
which  was  great,  nor  from  its  freshness,  which  was 
palpable  enough,  but  from  a  certain  cold  reserve. 
Whether  the  latter  was  natural  or  assumed,  the  young 
man  could  not  guess;  but  he  looked  at  her  as  much 
in  surprise  at  her  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance 
as  in  admiration. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  faltered,  directing 
her  gaze  and  remark  to  Mr.  Merridale.  "I — I 
thought  you  were  alone.  I  am  going  out  now." 

The  words  came  sweetly  though  the  face  was 
unsmiling,  and  there  was  a  slight  hesitation  which 
was  in  strong  contrast  to  her  confident  bearing. 
Merridale  made  no  attempt  to  introduce  the  young 
man.  His  brows  knitted  as  if  the  interruption  had 
annoyed  him  and  disturbed  his  temper.  "I  thought 
you  had  gone  out  long  since,  my  dear,"  he  said  with 
smoothness. 

Instead  of  answering  the  girl  flushed  as  if  startled 
by  the  affectionate  term;  but  she  flashed  a  look  of 
utter  indifference  at  the  speaker;  then  with  a  sweeping 
glance  at  the  young  man  on  the  sofa,  a  glance  filled 


48  THE   RED   PAPER 

with  an  expression  of  disdain,  she  retired,  closing 
the  door  behind  her. 

Merridale  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  seemed  to  take 
a  long  breath.  "My  daughter,  sir,"  he  said  easily, 
as  he  relighted  his  extinguished  cigar. 

"Your  daughter?" 

"Yes,  my  daughter  Ethel,  Grace's  cousin.  She 
has  a  peculiar  nature,  as  you  may  have  observed. 
I  must  apologize  for  her  bruskness.  She  is  not  at 
all  like  me — not  at  all.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the 
girls  do  not  agree.  They  can  bear  little  from  each 
other." 

To  this  Wentworth  vouchsafed  nothing.  He  had 
heard  of  women  who  were  angels  in  appearance  but 
possessed  the  temper  of  the  devil. 

"Now,  as  I  was  about  to  remark,"  continued  the 
other,  with  an  attempt  at  lightness  of  manner, 
"regarding  the  paper — the  red  paper — I  can  save 
you  heaps  of  trouble,  sir.  I  am  about  to  return  to 
Texas,  and  will  place  it  in  Grace's  hands.  Such  a 
paper  needs  safe  transit,  and — well,  with  her,  I  am 
myself  interested  in  it." 

"You  told  me  you  were  not  aware  of  its  nature," 
returned  the  young  man,  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"Did  I?     But  Grace  is  aware  of  it." 

"My  father  informed  me  that  she  has  no  knowledge 
of  it.  Moreover,  Mr.  Merridale,  my  father  made 
it  a  point  of  honor,  for  some  reason,  that  I  should 
give  that  paper  to  her  myself.  I  do  not  count  the 
cost  of  trouble  in  fulfilling  any  wish  of  his." 


A   LETTER  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    49 

"Of  course,  you  have  this  document?" 

"Certainly.  It  is  safe  in  my  studio — my  apart 
ments.  As  soon  as  I  can  get  into  communication 
with  your  niece  I  will  take  the  proper  steps." 

Merridale  got  up  from  his  chair,  paced  the  room 
twice,  then  returned  and  reseated  himself. 

"But,  Mr.  Wentworth,"  he  said  with  an  accession 
of  soft- voiced  confidence,  "my  niece  has  assigned 
her  interests  in  that  paper  to  me." 

"Then  she  is  at  liberty  to  give  it  to  you  with  her 
own  hands.  I  will  not." 

"You  will  not?" 

"I  will  not." 

"You  make  that  statement  as  final?" 

"As  final;  yes,  sir." 

"Then,  Mr.  Wentworth,  permit  me  to  inform  you 
that  you  arc  depriving  me  of  my  rights."  The  voice 
was  a  trifle  harsh,  and  the  hitherto  ready  smile 
disappeared.  "  Time,  in  this  matter,  is  important  to 
inc.  Can  I  make  it  an  object  to  you  to  alter  your 
mind?" 

"You  mean  that  you  would  bribe  me?" 

The  other  laughed  harshly,  and  waved  a  pudgy 
hand. 

"You  might  be  a  trifle  more  euphemistic— but  I 
suppose,  between  us — as  men,  you  know — we  might 
come  to  an  understanding." 

John's  heart  began  to  beat  violently.  "What  is 
your  figure?"  he  inquired  calmly,  though  his  nerves 
had  become  tense. 


50  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Well,  sir,  I  happen  to  be  aware  that  you  have 
come  somewhat  short  in  your  expectations  from  your 
father.  Let  us  say,  one  thousand  dollars.  That  is 
liberal.  You  are  not  responsible  to  any  one  in  this; 
you  would  not  be  remiss  in  any  legal  require 
ment." 

"In  no  legal  requirement,  true;  but  I  shall  consider 
my  father's  wish,  even  if  it  necessitates  a  trip  to 
Texas.  The  latter  would  not  be  unpleasant.  It  is 
my  honor  which  is  involved.'' 

"Your  honor!  Why,  my  dear  sir — my  dear  sir, 
I  have — 

Wentworth's  face  grew  hot.  "No,  sir,"  he  inter 
rupted.  "I  anticipate  what  you  would  argue!  It 
is  useless!  You  have  proposed  a  transaction  which 
is  insulting  in  itself,  which  is  repugnant,  and  which 
I_refuse  utterly." 

The  other  looked  at  him  steadily,  then  began 
pacing  the  floor.  His  face  bore  an  ugly  frown, 
though  his  voice  was  not  aggressive. 

"Mr.  Wentworth,"  he  said,  flicking  the  ash  from 
his  cigar,  "there  is  a  man — I  know  him  well — wyho 
once  told  me  a  story  relating  to  your  father — a 
story  that  would  blast  his  reputation,  were  it  known. 
May  I  be  plain?" 

"The  plainer  the  better,  sir,"  said  Wentworth, 
but  with  that  in  his  voice  which  should  have  warned 
the  other. 

"Well,  it  would  have  placed  him  in  the  grip  of  the 
law."  He  stopped,  glancing  at  his  seated  guest  from 


A   LETTER   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    51 

the  corner  of  his  eye  as  he  coolly  wet  and  rewound 
the  loose  end  of  his  ragged  cigar. 

Wentworth  felt  all  the  blood  in  his  body  rising  to 
his  head,  but  he  made  no  movement  of  surprise 
as  he  got  a  grip  on  himself  and  said:  "Yes?  And 
the  nature  of  the  crime?  I  have  heard  something 
of  it,  but  nothing  definite." 

Merridale  did  not  answer  the  direct  question,  but 
went  on  with  exasperating  coolness:  "Such  a  story 
would  not  be  relished  by  any  man  of  your  caste, 
sir,  though  the  hungry  public  would  find  it  enter 
taining." 

"And  the  nature  of  it?"  repeated  Wentworth, 
leaning  forward  and  raising  his  voice. 

"You  wish  it  given  explicitly?" 

"Explicitly." 

"Well,  sir,  it  is  nothing  less  than  the  greatest  of 
crimes  coupled  with  the  meanest.  I  mean  murder 
and  robbery,  if  you  insist  upon  having  the  truth." 

If  Wrentworth  had  been  struck  in  the  face  by  the 
man  before  him  he  could  hardly  have  been  more 
stunned.  Murder!  His  father  charged  with  murder! 
The  idea  was  too  preposterous.  And  robbery! 
Captain  Wentworth,  the  soul  of  honor,  a  thief! 
The  young  man  stared  at  Merridale,  less  stirred  by  the 
charge  than  by  the  temerity  of  the  person  who  had 
made  it.  He  now  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the  char 
acter  of  the  individual  who  had  traduced  the  memory 
of  his  dead  parent.  He  suddenly  hated  the  fellow, 
but  he  was  too  well  poised  to  break  into  a  tirade  of 


52  THE   RED   PAPER 

denunciation.  He  got  a  firm  hold  on  himself  and 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"And  you,  sir;  do  you  really  believe  it?"  he 
asked,  speaking  with  dangerous  calmness. 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there/'  said  Merridale, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  sees  and  is  ready  to  push 
what  he  thinks  is  an  advantage.  "But  I  assure 
you,  sir,  that  once  I  am  in  possession  of  the  paper 
in  question,  the  man  would  be  forever  silent.'' 

"What  is  his  name?     Where  can  he  be  found?" 

The  Southerner's  heavy  face  lighted.  "I  will  not 
tell  you  his  whereabouts,  Mr.  Wentworth;  that 
would  be  too  much  like  crowding  the  mourners; 
but  if  you  wish  to  come  to  terms  with  me  I  am  willing 
to  tell  you  his  name.  It  is  Welch.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  him?" 

"No.  And  so  through  him  you  would  attempt  to 
blackmail  me  even  as  he  blackmailed  my  father." 

"You  are  speaking  rather  too  plainly;  but  I  will 
say  that  in  the  event  of  your  refusal  to  give  up  the 
paper  I  will  no  longer  hold  him  to  silence,  as  I  have 
been  doing.  The  thing  is  useless  to  you — you  could 
not  even  read  it;  and  now  that  the  captain  is  dead 
Welch  alone  has  the  key." 

WTentworth's  blood  was  boiling  with  anger.  It  was 
all  he  could  do  to  keep  his  hands  from  the  now 
grinning  man  who  faced  him  and  who  seemed  to  be 
unaware  of  his  own  lack  of  skill  in  playing  his 
hand. 

"You  now  say  Welch  alone  has  the  key.     But  a 


A   LETTER  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    53 

few  moments  since  you  told  me  that  Grace  Merridale 
was  aware  of  the  contents  of  that  paper." 

"I  told  you  nothing  of  the  kind,"  retorted  Merri 
dale,  his  face  flushing  darkly  as  he  realized  his  break. 

"I  say  you  did.     You  have  trapped  yourself." 

"You  are  a  liar,  sir.     I  did  not." 

That  was  the  climax.  Wentworth  forgot  himself. 
The  policy  he  had  formed  of  drawing  this  man  on 
until  he  could  learn  something  definite  was  lost 
sight  of  at  the  epithet  and  in  his  sudden  whirl  of 
passion.  lie  took  a  step  toward  Merridale.  "You 
are  a  villain!"  he  shouted,  "mated  with  another 
villain!"  And  with  that  he  shot  out  his  right  fist. 

It  did  not  take  Mcrridale  entirely  off  his  guard. 
He  had  quickly  lifted  his  arm  to  protect  himself 
and  the  blow  caught  his  hand  as  it  reached  the  level 
of  his  chin.  Wentworth's  list  fell  there  but  its  force 
was  deadened  by  the  fat  lingers  of  the  other.  The 
fellow  staggered  back  under  the  power  of  the  impact, 
caught  his  legs  in  a  chair,  and  rolled  to  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  he  was  dazed;  then  he  got  to  his 
feet  with  an  oath;  but  as  John  advanced,  he  ran  to 
the  door  and  into  the  hall,  bringing  the  door  to  behind 
him  with  a  slam.  There  was  a  sound  of  a  clicking 
lock,  the  meaning  of  which  Wentworth  was  too 
excited  to  realize;  then  all  was  quiet. 

The  thoroughly  angered  young  man  stood  waiting 
for  Merridale's  return;  but  as  the  minutes  slipped 
by,  he  went  to  the  door  only  to  discover  that  it  was 
locked  from  the  outside  and  was  firm.  It  was  not 


54  THE   RED   PAPER 

a  heavy  door,  as  doors  go;  but  it  was  sufficient  to 
bar  his  way  from  the  house.  He  sat  down  and  tried 
to  calm  himself,  a  thing  he  finally  succeeded  in  doing, 
for,  unthought  of  by  him,  time  flew  along,  and  he 
suffered  no  interruption.  He  did  not  consider  the 
possible  consequences  of  his  assault,  nor  could  he, 
try  as  he  might,  trace  backward  the  sequence  of  events 
till  he  came  to  their  source. 

He  was  entirely  satisfied  that  his  host  was  no  better 
than  Welch,  and  he  was  now  doubly  sure  that,  come 
what  might,  neither  should  have  the  red  paper  unless 
it  passed  through  the  hands  of  Grace  Merridale. 
To  this  he  pledged  his  honor  anew.  As  for  Welch- 
he  would  now  make  it  his  business  to  find  him,  and 
find  exactly  of  what  his  father  was  accused.  He 
knew  that  the  captain  had  commenced  his  career 
on  the  sea,  and  it  was  possible  that  in  the  wilder 
days  of  his  youth  he  might  have  been  guilty  of  some 
thing  which,  for  blackmailing  purposes,  had  been 
construed  into  major  crimes. 

But  it  could  have  been  neither  murder  nor  robbery! 
The  thing  was  impossible!  And  yet,  as  the  young 
man  sat  alone,  he  was  fearful  of  what  might  be 
uncovered,  and  this,  too,  with  no  lack  of  loyalty 
to  the  memory  of  his  dead  parent. 

His  train  of  thought  was  long  and  deep.  When  he 
roused  himself,  he  became  aware  that  the  daylight  was 
on  the  wane — that  it  had  already  grown  dusk — that 
he  was  alone,  and  had  been  undisturbed  for  something 
like  two  hours.  He  got  up  with  a  start  and  looked 


A   LETTER   AND    ITS   CONSEQUENCES    55 

from  the  window.  The  street  was  still  filled  with 
shouting  children,  and  lights  were  beginning  to  twinkle 
from  the  houses  opposite.  He  saw  at  once  that  to 
attempt  to  attract  outside  attention  would  not  only 
be  difficult,  but  that  its  success  would  result  in 
gathering  a  mob. 

He  again  walked  to  the  door.  It  was  still  fast. 
For  a  time  he  tried  to  pick  the  lock  with  his  knife, 
but  soon  saw  that  nothing  short  of  smashing  it 
would  free  him.  Then  a  thought  struck  him.  Per 
haps  Merridale  had  succumbed  to  the  force  of  his 
blow  and  was  lying  helpless  somewhere.  He  ham 
mered  and  kicked  on  the  panels,  but  without  effect; 
the  two  flats  below  him,  he  now  remembered,  were 
not  occupied. 

It  had  by  this  grown  to  be  deep  gloom  in  the  room, 
and  the  feeling  that  he  was  a  prisoner  rendered  him 
desperate.  He  took  one  turn  about  the  apartment 
to  steady  his  thoughts;  then,  picking  up  the  heaviest 
chair,  he  swung  it  aloft  and  brought  it  down  on 
the  door  close  to  the  knob. 

Under  the  force  of  the  blow  the  chair  went  to 
pieces  in  his  grasp,  and  the  panel  flew  to  splinters. 
Reaching  his  hand  through  the  ragged  opening,  the 
young  man  felt  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  turned  it. 
The  door  swung  open.  Only  the  darkness  of  the 
private  hall  met  his  gaze.  Striking  a  match,  he 
moved  along  the  hall  until  he  found  a  gas-bracket, 
which  he  lighted;  then  he  explored  the  flat,  illumi 
nating  each  room  until  the  place  was  ablaze  with 


56  THE   RED   PAPER 

light.  But  his  hope,  or  fear,  of  finding  the  man 
he  had  struck  was  groundless;  save  for  himself, 
the  flat  was  empty.  He  was  as  much  a  prisoner 
as  ever. 

A  slight  examination  showed  him  that  the  door 
leading  to  the  outer  hall  was  fastened  from  the 
outside,  or  locked  and  the  key  taken  away;  he 
also  noticed  that  the  panels  were  stout  and  heavy, 
and,  moreover,  the  private  hall  at  that  point  was  so 
narrow  as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  swinging 
a  chair  with  any  effect.  Without  proper  tools,  he 
could  not  get  out;  he  must  look  for  some  other 
mode  of  obtaining  his  liberty. 

He  thought  of  the  fire-escape.  Looking  from  the 
window  of  what  was  intended  for  the  dining-room, 
now  a  bare,  unfurnished  apartment,  he  saw  that 
egress  to  the  iron  ladder  was  through  the  kitchen 
window,  and  he  then  found  that  the  kitchen  was 
being  used  as  a  store-room  only,  it  being  piled  ceiling- 
high  with  furniture,  trunks,  and  packing-boxes.  It 
presented  a  mass  which  would  have  taken  two  strong 
men  a  couple  of  hours  to  remove.  It  was  now  fairly 
plain  to  the  young  man  that  the  flat  was  being  used 
for  sleeping  purposes  only,  unless,  indeed,  it  was 
but  a  trap;  escape  by  the  fire-ladder  was  impossible. 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him — a  thought  that 
sent  a  wave  of  fever  through  his  veins.  Had  Merri- 
dale  deliberately  locked  him  in  that  he  might  go 
to  the  studio  and  ransack  it  for  the  paper?  Such 
a  man  might  be  equal  to  such  an  act. 


A  LETTER  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES    57 

Wentworth's  sudden  emotion  did  not  rise  from 
any  fear  for  the  loss  of  the  paper;  it  was  too  well 
hidden  for  that,  but  the  possibility  of  so  high-handed 
a  proceeding  made  him  desperately  anxious  to  get 
out  of  the  flat;  indeed,  the  matter  was  imperative; 
he  was  a  prisoner,  an  unlawful  prisoner,  and  any 
course  that  freed  him  would  be  justified.  He  next 
thought  of  sliding  down  the  dumb-waiter  rope,  but 
a  glance  into  the  narrow  black  hole  dissuaded  him, 
not  only  from  its  repellent  aspect,  but  because  he 
realized  he  could  not  escape  that  way — the  waiter, 
being  at  the  bottom,  would  itself  block  the  entrance 
to  the  basement. 

As  he  drew  back  from  the  dumb-waiter  shaft  his 
mind  reverted  to  the  corded  trunks  and  the  air-well 
by  the  alcove  window.  Hurrying  into  that  room 
he  examined  the  ropes  to  determine  their  strength, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  had  never  seen 
the  like  of  such  lines,  nor  was  he  aware  that  he 
was  wasting  his  time  in  questioning  the  strength 
of  a  regular  Texas  cattle  lariat.  He  saw  that  if 
one  was  not  sufficient,  two  would  more  than  hold 
his  one  hundred  and  sixty-seven  pounds.  He  would 
go  down  the  air-well,  if  they  were  long  enough. 

He  looked  from  the  window.  It  was  now  fairly 
dark  outside,  but  sufficient  light  came  from  the 
sky  to  show  the  small,  paved  court  and  cellar  windows 
some  thirty  odd  feet  below.  That  distance  would 
be  a  mere  bagatelle  for  him. 

With  nervous  haste  he  unknotted  the  lines  from 


58  THE   RED   PAPER 

the  two  trunks,  fastened  the  ends  together,  tied 
the  doubled  cord  to  the  leg  of  the  bed,  which  he 
pushed  close  to  the  window,  and  then  threw  out  the 
coil.  The  line  reached  to  within  eight  or  ten  feet 
of  the  pavement. 

He  ran  to  the  room  which  had  undoubtedly  been 
occupied  by  the  young  lady;  he  had  seen  some 
towels  there.  Save  for  a  bed,  bureau,  a  chair,  and 
an  open  trunk,  the  little  room  wras  bare. 

There  was  a  delicate  perfume  on  the  air,  a  perfume 
suggesting  femininity;  the  odor  was  a  strange  one, 
though  even  then  it  impressed  him. 

Taking  the  towels,  he  went  round  and  extinguished 
all  the  gas  in  the  flat,  returning  to  the  alcove. 

Stripping  off  his  coat,  he  threw  it  to  the  court 
below;  then,  winding  the  towels  round  his  hands, 
he  took  a  firm  grasp  on  the  double  lines  and  swung 
himself  from  the  window. 


CHAPTER'  IV 
TOM  HARPER 

THE  windows  of  the  adjoining  flats  were  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  air-shaft,  and  no 
one  saw  the  young  man,  as,  for  a  moment  or 
two,  he  hung  twisting  in  space.  Getting  a  grip  on 
the  line  with  his  legs,  he  loosened  his  hold  and  let 
himself  slide  slowly,  but  not  so  slowly  but  that  he 
felt  the  heat  of  the  friction  and  knew  the  towels 
were  being  eaten  away.  By  the  time  his  legs  felt 
the  end  of  the  line  the  burning  of  his  hands  became 
unbearable,  and  he  let  go  his  grasp,  falling  some 
ten  feet,  yet  alighting  with  less  of  a  shock  than  he 
anticipated. 

He  leaned  against  the  wall  to  catch  his  breath 
after  his  exertion,  then  put  on  his  coat  and  looked 
at  the  window  in  front  of  which  he  had  fallen.  It 
was  a  dingy,  unwashed  sash,  and  there  was  no  light 
behind  it;  he  knew,  however,  it  must  open  into  the 
cellar,  and  without  ado  he  kicked  it  in. 

The  crashing  of  glass  evidently  disturbed  some 
one  above,  for  a  voice  called  out;  but  without  answer 
ing  Wentworth  crawled  through  the  jagged  hole  he 

59 


60  THE   RED   PAPER 

had  made  and  found  himself  free,  for  the  door  to  the 
street  was  directly  before  him.  In  a  moment  he 
was  out  of  it,  and  in  ten  minutes  more  was  on  an 
elevated  train. 

As  he  reviewed  the  events  of  the  afternoon,  and 
his  mind  was  completely  taken  up  by  them,  he 
realized  that,  though  he  had  come  out  of  an  awkward 
situation  as  a  victor,  he  should  not  let  the  matter 
rest.  Not  only  was  he  determined  to  find  Welch 
and  clear  away  the  mystery  hanging  over  his  late 
father's  good  name,  but  he  made  up  his  mind  that 
Thaddeus  Merridale  should  be  made  to  suffer  for 
the  outrage  put  upon  him;  indeed,  he  must  see  the 
man  again  if  only  for  the  purpose  of  tracing  Welch. 

But,  like  a  wise  physician  who  puts  his  own  case 
into  the  hands  of  a  brother  professional,  Wentworth 
determined  not  to  take  further  steps  until  he  had 
the  advice  of  Harper,  whom  he  knew  he  would 
soon  see.  That  astute  individual,  though  somewhat 
lazy  when  acting  in  his  own  behalf,  was  keen  enough 
when  acting  for  another,  was  intensely  practical, 
logical  and  cool-headed,  *nd  his  counsel  would  be 
wise.  Wentworth  knew  that  the  police  might  be 
appealed  to  in  this  matter;  but  as  he  had  as  yet 
suffered  nothing  beyond  inconvenience,  and  as  the 
arrest  of  Merridale  for  unlawfully  detaining  him  in 
a  locked  room  might  at  the  same  time  open  the 
flood-gate  of  scandal,  he  put  aside  the  idea. 

That  the  man  who  had  attempted  to  bribe 
and  then  blackmail  him  would  proceed  further  in 


TOM   HARPER  61 

his  efforts  to  obtain  the  red  paper  the  young  man 
could  not  conceive.  He  considered  that  Merridale 
had  received  a  lesson  he  would  not  soon  forget, 
and  it  would  be  but  a  question  of  time  before  he 
would  read  him  another.  In  this  he  was  both 
wrong  and  right. 

When  he  arrived  in  front  of  the  Van  Dyke  he 
found  Thomas  walking  up  and  down  the  pavement 
in  the  dusk.  As  the  old  man  saw  his  master  he 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  the  expression  of  trouble 
went  from  his  face. 

"I  was  getting  to  be  afraid  something  wrong  had 
happened  to  you,  sir.  I  did  not  want  to  leave  until 
you  returned,  Master  John,''  said  the  faithful  servitor. 

"Something  has  happened,"  said  Wentworth. 

"I  hope  nothing  serious,  Master  John — nothing 
connected  with  what  I  have  done.  I  acted  for  what 
I  thought  was  the  best,  sir." 

"What   do   you  mean?     Has  any  one  been  here 
to  see  me?" 

"Yes,  sir;  two  gentlemen,  sir;  the  one  who  called 
at  the  house  last  night,  and  another  with  him,  sir — 
a  foreign-looking  chap.  They  showed  me  your  order, 
sir,  but  I  couldn't  help  them." 

"Order!     What  order?" 

"The  note  you  wrote,  sir,  about  a  certain  red  paper. 
I  know  nothing  of  it,  Master  John,  and  so  told  them. 
They  wanted  to  search  the  place,  sir — said  it  was 
important — that  you  sent  them  for  it  and  were 
waiting." 


62  THE   RED   PAPER 

"And  did  you  let  them,  Thomas?" 

"No,  sir.  I  met  them  in  the  hall  just  after  I 
had  locked  the  door.  The  young  foreign  fellow 
threatened  me,  sir,  but  they  went  away  later." 

Wentworth  whistled  softly.  "And  that  was  all?" 
he  asked,  as  the  evident  desperation  of  Merridale 
was  set  forth  in  plain  lines. 

"Yes,  sir.  But  they  offered  me  ten  dollars  to  let 
them  in.  It  looked  too  irregular,  sir;  I  refused. 
They  turned  ugly  at  that — especially  the  older  man— 
and  I  thought  they  might  try  to  get  the  key  from  me 
by  force,  for  the  hall  was  empty  and  the  elevator 
had  stopped  running,  so  I  came  down  to  the  street. 
Later,  they  came  clown  after  me  and  stood  on  the 
corner  talking — then  they  walked  off." 

"How  long  ago  was  this?" 

"They've  been  gone  about  an  hour,  sir — perhaps 
more." 

"You  did  right,  Thomas,"  said  the  young  man, 
flaming  with  anger.  ' '  I  gave  no  order.  That  man — ! 
Never  mind.  You  may  go  now;  I'll  attend  to  those 
fellows!  One  was  a  foreigner  you  say?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Slight  man,  sir;  very  dark,  long  hair, 
small  mustache  and  goatee.  The  two  talked  together 
in  a  foreign  language;  Spanish,  I  think  it  was,  sir." 

"Very  good,  Thomas.  You  did  your  duty 
thoroughly.  Here — take  this  and — good-night." 

He  thrust  a  bill  into  the  hand  of  the  old  man 
and  left  him. 

"I  wonder  who   the   devil   the   foreigner  is   and 


TOM   HARPER  63 

what  he  has  to  do  with  this  muss,"  mused  Wentworth 
as  he  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  studio.  "This  matter 
is  getting  beyond  me,"  he  muttered,  as  he  let  himself 
into  the  studio.  "I  wish  Harper  were  here  now." 

When  he  had  put  himself  in  order  he  went  out  and 
had  his  dinner,  his  mind  completely  obsessed  by  the 
red  paper  around  which  so  much  appeared  to  revolve. 
He  considered  it  high  time  that  he  learned  some 
thing  definite  about  the  mysterious  document  in 
which  his  father  had  taken  so  great  an  interest  and 
for  which  Thaddeus  Merridale  was  willing  to  commit 
a  crime.  What  was  it  that  could  have  so  influenced 
a  man  like  his  father,  aroused  the  desperation  of  two 
strangers,  and  now  was  a  threat  to  himself?  He 
resolved  to  find  out  at  once. 

His  dinner  finished,  he  hurried  back  to  his  room, 
locking  and  bolting  the  door,  then  fished  the  boxed 
picture  from  beneath  the  bed,  pried  off  the  cover 
of  the  case  and  lifted  out  the  painting.  Under  the 
blade  of  his  knife  the  stretched  paper  backing  gave 
way  with  the  resonant  sound  of  tightened  parch 
ment,  and  as  Wentworth  folded  back  the  flap  he  saw 
a  long  blue  envelope  on  which  was  written: 

GRACE  MERRIDALE 

To  be  delivered  to  her 
on  her  twenty-first 

birthday. 

December  17  th, 

19—. 


64  THE   RED   PAPER 

The  writing  was  in  Captain  Wentworth's  hand— 
his  hand  had  placed  it  in  this  hiding-place,  and  he 
had  spoken  of  the  document  as  a  curse. 

With  a  reverent  touch  the  young  man  took  out 
the  envelope.  It  was  unsealed.  From  it  he  drew 
a  single  sheet  of  white  paper — white  on  one  side, 
folded  thrice  to  fit  the  envelope.  He  opened  it. 

Here  at  last  was  the  enigma. 

Indeed,  his  father  had  been  right;  he  could  make 
absolutely  nothing  of  it,  and  his  first  thought  was 
of  the  impossibility  of  men  getting  into  a  passion 
over  such  a  thing.  It  was  a  sheet  of  exactly  eight 
by  ten  inches,  and  to  the  young  man's  eye  was 
covered  with  only  a  line  but  irregular  network  of 
lines  done  with  a  fine  pen  dipped  in  red  ink.  The 
surface  of  the  paper  was  entirely  covered,  save  for 
a  slight  edging  of  white,  and  the  only  thing  that 
broke  the  bewildering  maze  was  a  faint  bluish  cloud, 
without  form  or  outline,  darker  in  some  areas  than 
in  others,  as  though  the  paper  had  been  soiled. 

Wentworth  took  up  a  focusing-glass  and  carefully 
went  over  every  inch  of  the  strange  document — if 
document  it  could  be  called — but  even  under  the 
increase  of  powrer  he  could  make  nothing  of  it,  save 
that  the  blue  smudge  became  more  definite  in  outline, 
though  it  was  still  without  meaning. 

Viewed  from  a  distance  of  three  feet,  the  smudge 
was  not  discernible  at  all,  and  the  fine  red  lines 
merged  together  so  that,  to  all  appearances,  it  was 
a  mere  piece  of  plain,  carmine-colored  paper,  some- 


TOM   HARPER  65 

what  soiled,  and  worthy  of  the  trash-basket.  Think 
ing  its  secret  might  be  solved  by  looking  through 
it  Wentworth  held  it  up  to  the  strong  argand-burner, 
but  the  paper  was  almost  absolutely  opaque. 

And  yet,  he  was  perfectly  sure  that  before  him 
lay  something  of  great  value.  He  grew  feverish  and 
smoked  cigarette  after  cigarette  as  he  worked  over 
what  he  had  considered  would  be  a  simple  problem; 
but  he  could  come  to  no  satisfactory  conclusion 
regarding  its  nature.  He  thought  bitterly  that  if 
his  father  had  lived  a  day  longer,  he  would  have  known 
the  secret;  but  now  the  only  thing  remaining  was 
to  fulfil  his  father's  wish  and  deliver  the  meaningless 
paper  to  the  young  lady  in  question,  as  soon  as 
he  could  come  by  her  whereabouts. 

"And  a  valuable  asset  it  i:-,  likely  to  prove  to 
her!"  he  murmured  scornfully;  "for,  according  to 
my  father,  she  knows  no  more  of  its  meaning  than 
I  do.  Why  in  the  devil  does  Merridale  go  to  such 
a  length  to  get  it?  With  a  pen,  a  bottle  of  carmine 
ink  and  a  couple  of  hours  of  patience  I  could  duplicate 
the  thing,  in  appearance!  But  there  is  evidently 
more  in  it  than  meets  the  eye,  and — to  the  devil 
with  it!  It's  getting  on  my  nerves!  Merridale  shall 
not  have  it,  priceless  or  worthless,  and  the  where 
abouts  of  the  man  Welch  hits  my  interest  harder 
than  this  does!  I  wish  I  had  my  hands  on  him! 
Curse  the  thing!  I'm  going  out!" 

He  returned  the  paper  to  the  painting,  put  the 
painting  in  its  box  and  shoved  it  under  his  bed; 


66 

then  he  left  the  studio  and  went  over  to  the  Great 

White  Way  in  time  to  meet  the  multitudes  streaming 
from  the  theaters.  In  the  teeming  crowds  the  young 
man  was  as  lonesome  as  if  in  the  desert  and  in  a 
spirit  of  self-disgust  he  returned  to  his  rooms,  now 
having  shaken  off  the  bother  of  the  mysterious 
paper  but  not  the  dissatisfaction  that  made  him 
chafe  at  an  existing  order  of  things  which  seemed 
to  place  him  beyond  the  pale  of  productive  work. 

His  one  idea  was  to  find  Welch,  and  with  a  natural 
impatience  to  begin  the  search  he  chafed  under  the 
restraint  of  circumstances.  After  walking  the  floor 
for  an  hour  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
young,  the  healthy  and  the  clean  of  conscience. 

When,  the  next  morning,  in  his  dressing-gown  and 
mule-slippers,  he  shuffled  from  his  bedroom  into  the 
broad  light  of  the  studio,  he  saw  a  man  lying  on 
the  divan,  sound  asleep.  After  the  events  of  the 
day  before  the  sight  caused  him  a  shock  and  he 
was  about  to  tackle  the  recumbent  figure  when  the 
sleeper  turned  over  and  exposed  his  identity.  It  was 
Tom  Harper. 

Wentworth's  cry  roused  him,  and  the  next  moment 
the  two  had  gripped  each  other's  hands  and  looked 
into  each  other's  faces.  There  was  no  demonstration 
of  excessive  joy,  but  there  was  a  consciousness  which 
went  deeper.  For  a  minute  or  two  they  did  not 
speak.  Finally,  Harper  broke  the  silence: 

"I  didn't  expect  to  get  in  here  until  to-morrow, 
Jack!  Arrived  at  the  Grand  Central  at  four  this 


TOM   HARPER  67 

morning  and  had  been  unable  to  get  a  sieeper.  Left 
my  kit  at  the  express  office  and  came  right  here 
to  have  a  nap — you  know  the  governor  and  how 
crotchety  he  is  about  being  disturbed  before  regular 
hours.  I  let  myself  in  with  the  key  you  gave  me, 
and  had  the  start  of  my  life  when  I  saw  you  in  bed. 
I  didn't  know  you  were  living  here — and  you  looked 
so  blissfully  happy  that  I  thought  it  a  sin  to  wake 
you.  I — I  have  nothing  to  say — that  you  haven't 
felt.  I  would  like  the  details  when  you  feel  you 
can  give  them." 

"I  have  plenty  to  interest  you,"  said  Wentworth, 
"perhaps  to  stagger  your  belief.  I  want  your  advice 
—and  help.  Go  and  wash  up;  you  look  like  a  coal- 
heaver.  You  are  well?" 

"Of  course.  Fit  for  anything,  from  a  fight  to  a 
football  match.  And  you?1' 

"Equally,  of  course — barring  worry  and  trouble. 
I  have  had  my  fight  within  twelve  hours,  and  it 
may  be  that  worse  than  a  football  match  is  coming. 
I  want  the  help  of  your  massive  brain,  old  man." 

"What's  up?"  asked  Harper,  stretching  and 
shaking  his  big  figure  as  he  threw  off  his  lethargy. 

"Enough  is  up — up  in  the  air.  Wait  until  we 
are  dressed.  Take  a  tub — you'll  find  all  the  con 
veniences.  I'll  be  ready  for  you  in  a  jiffy.  Then 
for  breakfast;  after  that,  business." 

"A  fight,  is  it?"  said  the  other.  "You  don't  look 
truculent,  Jack,  only  a  little  thinner  and  paler. 
However,  fight  or  arbitrate,  I'm  with  you."  The 


68  THE   RED   PAPER 

big  man  held  out  his  hand  and  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders.  The  two  gripped  in  silence;  one  in  faith, 
the  other  in  blind  confidence,  and  both  in  that  spirit 
of  sympathy  and  understanding  which  binds  some 
men  together  in  bonds  stronger  than  those  of  blood. 

T\vo  hours  later,  well-groomed  and  fed,  the  friends 
were  again  in  the  studio,  Wentworth  walking  up  and 
down  the  rugged  floor  as  he  talked,  while  Harper,  pipe 
in  mouth,  lolled  on  the  divan,  active  interest  showing 
on  his  wholesome,  clean-shaven  face. 

From  the  moment  they  had  parted  some  weeks 
before  Wentworth  gave  the  history  of  every  hour  that 
had  elapsed.  It  had  been  a  long,  hard  story.  "And 
now  you  have  the  last  detail,  "  he  said,  throwing  away 
his  exhausted  cigar  and  flinging  himself  into  an  easy- 
chair.  "It  is  not  a  very  happy  tale  to  welcome  you 
with.  I  am  at  sea  about  the  captain- -and  must 
always  be,  I  suppose;  and  I  am  at  sea  regarding 
Merridale  and  Welch.  But  the  next  move  is  up  to 
me.  What  is  to  be  done?  " 

Harper  refilled  his  pipe.  "I  should  say  that  the 
first  thing  is  to  let  me  have  a  look  at  that  wonderful 
red  paper;  the  rest  can  wait  a  while,"  was  the  quiet 
return.  "You  know  the  adage  concerning  two  heads 
—though  neither  of  us  bears  that  of  an  ass,  I  take 
it." 

Wentworth  went  to  the  bedroom  and  brought  out 
the  box,  opened  it  and  gave  the  paper  to  his  friend. 
Harper  turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  great  hands, 
looking  at  it  from  every  point  of  view. 


TOM   HARPER  69 

"Humph!"  he  finally  ejaculated.  "That  is  the 
blindest  lead  I  ever  struck.  Looks  like  the  fly-leaf 
or  binding  of  a  fancy  book,  and  a  dirty  one,  at  that! 
Why  in  the  deuce  should  any  man  want  to  risk  a 
fight  or  a  term  in  jail  for  this  thing?" 

"It  is  supposed  to  be  valuable." 

"Well,  it  don't  look  it;  but  as — as  the  captain  said 
it  was  I  must  believe  it.  Valuable  for  what?  It 
certainly  is  not  clear  on  the  face  of  it!  And  why 
should  your  father  have  taken  it  from  the  vault? 
Why  should  he  have  considered  it  a  temptation,  and 
—well,  no  matter,  Jack.  I'm  a  bit  fagged  from  lack 
of  rest.  I'd  like  to  sleep  on  the  subject  before  I 
express  an  opinion — which  is  vague — at  best.  But, 
if  this  paper  is  valuable,  do  you  know  what  I'd  do?" 

"What?" 

"Photograph  it — just  for  a  record,  you  know. 
You  are  an  expert  and  have  everything  handy. 
Suppose  the  lady  should  lose  it;  she  would  like  a 
copy.  I'd  photograph  it  at  once." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  such  a  thing;  but  it's  a  good 
idea." 

"Do  it  now,  old  man." 

"Will  you  wait?" 

"Yes,  for  a  while.  I  should  be  getting  home;  but 
you  make  the  exposure --you  needn't  develop  it  at 
once — then  we'll  take  a  Turkish  bath,  after  which 
perhaps  my  brain  will  work  and  I  can  consider  the 
matter  of  Welch  ct  al." 

Harper  yawned  prodigiously  as  he  finished.     Went- 


70  THE   RED   PAPER 

worth  looked  fixedly  at  him.  "Tom,  you  are  afraid 
of  Merridale!" 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  Merridale, "  returned  the  other, 
bringing  his  strong  jaws  together  with  a  snap,  "but 
I  confess  to  a  fear  of  what  such  a  man  is  capable  of 
doing;  not  to  you,  perhaps,  but  to  Miss  Merridale. 
If  you  get  a  good  negative  you  will  protect  her  and 
not  have  to  be  nervous  about  the  original.  Lord, 
how  bunged  up  I  feel!  Get  to  work,  old  man." 

Wentworth  turned  awray  and  Harper  threw  himself 
on  to  the  broad  divan,  where  he  went  instantly  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  RED  PAPER 

THE  other  wheeled  an  easel  into  the  broad  light 
and  tacked  the  paper  on  a  blank  canvas,  then 
brought  up  his  camera  and  focused  care 
fully.  The  ground  glass  of  the  fine  instrument  was 
larger  than  the  paper  itself,  making  it  possible  to 
get  a  copy  the  exact  size  of  the  original — a  thing  the 
young  man  determined  to  do.  It  took  some  minutes 
to  align  the  image  on  the  glass,  bringing  out  the  fine 
lines  on  the  screen,  but  that  done  to  his  satisfaction 
he  went  for  a  plate-holder,  placed  it  in  the  camera, 
closed  the  pneumatic  shutter,  drew  the  slide  and  was 
about  to  make  the  exposure  when  he  thought  a 
moment  and  held  his  hand. 

''I  must  have  the  blue  smudge  and  all,"  he  mur 
mured  to  himself,  glancing  at  his  sleeping  friend, 
who,  he  knew,  would  criticise  the  lack  of  it.  "And 
I  won't  get  it  this  way.  It  needs  a  ray  filter  and  an 
orthochromatic  plate." 

He  put  back  the  slide  and  pulled  out  the  holder, 
exchanging  it  for  one  containing  a  color-sensitive 
plate,  then  going  to  a  leather  case  on  a  shelf,  he  selected 


72  THE   RED   PAPER 

from  it  a  red-glass  cell.  Unscrewing  the  lens,  he 
dropped  the  cell  in  its  groove  in  the  camera  and 
replaced  the  lens.  This,  while  it  darkened  the  image 
and  would  quadruple  the  exposure,  would  give 
orthochromatic  values  to  the  negative;  but  now  the 
image  required  refocusing. 

Not  for  a  second  did  Wentworth  dream  of  the 
importance  of  the  change  he  had  made,  nor  what  was 
hanging  on  the  moment.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
well-known  critical  mental  attitude  of  the  sleeping 
man  he  would  have  let  the  matter  go  in  a  plain 
photograph;  but  now  he  determined  to  do  his  best 
and  maintain  his  reputation  as  an  expert  amateur. 
He  picked  up  the  magnifying  glass,  threw  the  black- 
velvet  focusing  cloth  over  his  head,  and  for  an 
instant  stood  looking  at  the  image  on  the  ground 
glass,  not  a  sound  being  heard  but  the  dull  rumble 
from  the  avenue  and  the  heavy  breathing  of  Harper. 

What  he  saw  puzzled  him.  The  image  of  the  blank 
red  paper  was  no  longer  there  as  it  had  been;  in  fact, 
it  was  not  there  at  all,  and  something  else  seemed 
to  have  taken  its  place.  He  brought  his  head  from 
beneath  the  focusing  cloth  and  looked  at  the  easel, 
but  it  was  there,  just  as  he  had  placed  it,  red  paper 
and  all.  He  dived  under  the  cloth  again,  and  was 
still  for  half  a  minute,  then  the  black  velvet  was 
tossed  into  the  air  and  the  studio  rang  with  a  shout 
that  brought  Harper  bolt  upright. 

"Eureka!  I  have  found  it!"  cried  Wentworth, 
his  eyes  shining. 


THE   RED   PAPER  73 

"  Found  what?  "  asked  Harper  in  idiotic  bewilder 
ment  as  he  tried  to  gather  his  scattered  senses. 

"The  paper!  The  secret!  The  key!  Look!  Get 
your  head  under  the  cloth  and  look!" 

He  was  incoherent  from  excitement. 

But  Harper  comprehended.  He  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  went  to  the  camera,  throwing  the  cloth  over  his 
head.  In  a  moment  he  sprang  back  with  an  exclama 
tion. 

"By  George!  I  see  the  thing!  Have  you  a  pane 
of  red  glass — red  anything  that  is  transparent?" 

"Yes;  the  dark-room  lantern." 

"Fetch  it  out.  Hurry!  You've  got  the  dead  wood 
of  the  matter,  and  now  we'll  cinch  it.  Don't  you  see? 
The  red  filter  back  of  the  lens  has  washed  out  the 
red  lines  that  led  the  eye  astray.  The  red,  uniting 
with  the  blue  smudge  we  thought  was  dirt,  has 
turned  that  black.  The  thing  is  plain.  The  paper 
is  a  disguised  map!  Bring  on  the  glass." 

It  was  clear  that  Harper  was  right,  for  when  the 
paper  was  laid  on  the  table  and  the  sheet  of  ruby 
glass  placed  over  it,  the  character  of  the  hitherto 
meaningless  scrap  stood  out  strongly. 

It  was  a  map  of  some  kind;  both  men,  with  their 
heads  together,  saw  that  at  once.  The  faint  blue 
smudge  was  now  dark,  and  appeared  like  black  ink 
on  a  dark-red  ground,  and  below,  where  the  dirt  had 
appeared  the  thickest  the  matter  fell  into  writing. 

Harper  picked  up  the  magnifying  glass  and  scanned 
it  closely  while  Wentworth  dre\v  back  and  watched 


74  THE   RED   PAPER 

his  face.  The  young  man's  excitement  was  over;  he 
had  discovered  the  meaning  of  the  paper  and  it 
satisfied  him.  There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments 
as  Harper  studied  the  paper,  and  when  at  last  the 
engineer  put  down  the  glass  and,  turning,  looked  up 
at  his  friend,  his  usually  ruddy  face  had  paled  some 
what.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  but  his  voice  was 
controlled  and  even  as  he  said: 

"No  wonder  Merridale  was  willing  to  go  to  great 
lengths  for  this!  No  wonder  your  father  said  this 
paper  was  of  incalculable  value!  Old  man,  do  you 
know  what  that  thing  is?" 

"No;  but  by  your  manner  it  is  something  out  of 
the  common. " 

"Indeed,  it  is!  It  is  a  map — evidently  a  true  one — 
of  the  lost  San  Saba  mine  in  Texas,  and  underneath 
in  writing  is  a  full  description  of  its  bearings! 

"The  finder  must  have  been  a  navigator,  for  he 
has  plotted  the  latitude  and  longitude  to  the  second, 
and  given  directions  for  approaching  as  though  he 
was  charting  an  island  at  sea,  and  furnishing  sailing 
directions.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  lost  San  Saba 
mine?" 

"No." 

"Well,  I  have.  I  heard  much  of  it  while  I  was  in 
Texas  and  getting  my  professional  legs  under  me. 
I  should  say  that  hundreds  of  men  have  lost  their 
lives  looking  for  that  mine.  At  one  time  I  caught 
the  bug  and  thought  of  taking  a  whack  at  it  my 
self.  This  was  seven  years  ago — and  I  was  just  that 


THE   RED   PAPER  75 

caliber  of  a  fool — but  my  governor  vetoed  my  plan 
of  exploration.  Now  I  don't  blame  him. " 

"I  well  remember  of  your  going  to  Texas,"  said 
Wentworth,  "but,  excuse  me,  Tom;  a  mine  is  a  hole 
in  the  ground,  I  think,  and  how  in  the  devil  can  a 
hole  in  the  ground  be  lost?  Real  estate  is  not 
perambulent  to  any  great  degree.  If  it  was,  and 
was  valuable,  someone  would  be  likely  to  rope  it 
before  it  got  far." 

"This  is  no  joke,  old  man, "  was  the  serious  return. 
"The  mine  in  question  has  always  been  known  as 
the  San  Saba.  We  have  an  idea  of  its  location,  but 
there  is  nothing  definite;  hardly  more  than  that  it 
lies  to  the  northern  part  of  what  was  once  Tom 
Greene  County.  Tom  Greene  County  has  been  split 
up  since  my  day,  but  as  it  was  originally  somewhat 
larger  than  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  and  as  the 
entire  country  about  is  a  howling  desert,  unwatered, 
unwoodcd  and  mountainous,  this  localizing  the  mine 
is  anything  but  satisfactory;  the  knowledge  of  its 
whereabouts  has  been  mighty  vague." 

"But  if  once  found  and  worked,  how  could  it 
become  lost?" 

"I  can  tell  you  that.  Rich  ore  was  taken  from  it 
as  late  as  1840 — silver  ore,  with  a  big  sprinkling 
of  gold.  Of  course,  the  mining  methods  were  crude. 
You  know  something  of  the  history  of  Texas.  Be 
tween  her  struggle  for  independence  from  Mexico, 
the  rough  element  in  the  State,  and  the  looming  up 
of  the  Mexican  War,  mining  had  no  chance.  The 


76  THE   RED   PAPER 

times  were  raw.  The  mines  were  raided  by  the 
Texans,  and  the  workers,  mostly  Mexicans,  were 
driven  out  or  killed. 

"No  doubt  many  a  man  had  his  eye  on  the  spot 
waiting  for  times  of  peace,  but  every  one  went  into 
action  in  that  period,  and  for  a  while  the  place  was 
deserted.  It  is  not  a  country  in  which  a  man  may 
linger  long  without  supplies  from  the  outside,  and  in 
those  days  supplies  were  impossible.  In  itself  the 
country  supports  nothing  but  cactus,  greasewood, 
tarantulas,  and  rattlesnakes;  it  is  a  maze  of  shifting 
sand-dunes,  and  lifts  of  rock.  It  did  not  take  many 
years,  or  even  months,  for  every  sign  of  mine  and 
human  occupation  to  be  obliterated.  The  hand  of 
the  sand-storm  did  the  work — filled  in  every  excava 
tion  and  leveled  every  adobe  hut — in  fact,  ground 
everything  to  powder,  save  the  solid  rock,  and  these 
storms  will  eventually  cut  down  and  level  even  the 
porphyry  of  the  hills.  A  sand-storm  is  relentless, 
and  Tom  Greene  County  is  the  playground  for  them- 

"The  heat  is  hellish  and  the  land  arid.  Once  the 
trace  of  human  work  was  lost  the  mine  was  lost- 
filled  up — and  the  probability  is  that  every  man 
who  has  laid  eyes  on  it  is  now  dead." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  the  maker  of  this  map  has  been  able,  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  by  accident  or  reasoning,  to  relocate 
the  lost  San  Saba.  No  richer  mine  ever  existed— 
if  tradition  is  true.  Knowing  its  worth,  he  disguised 
this  map;  giving  the  key,  or  telling  it  to  your  father, 


THE   RED   PAPER  77 

with  the  promise  that  it  be  made  over  to  his  daughter 
Grace.  That  much  seems  clear  to  me.  But,  some 
how,  this  fellow  catches  on  to  the  secret — how,  I 
can't  guess.  He  goes  to  your  father,  who  has  the 
paper,  and — pardon  me,  old  man,  you  know  the 
rest.  You  have  strucK  the  key  by  accident,  and  if 
Grace  Merridale  wishes  to  sell  this  map  she  can  be 
one  of  the  richest  young  ladies  in  the  United  States. " 

"But  Merridale?" 

"Evidently  he  also  is  in  the  secret  and  has  tried 
to  do  with  you  what  Welch  tried  to  do  with  your 
father — while  either  or  both  are  ready  to  rob  the 
lady." 

"But  she  shall  have  it— to  do  what  she  pleases 
with  it,"  said  Wentworth. 

"Of  course,"  returned  Harper,  knitting  his  brows. 
"  Unless — unless— 

"Unless  what0" 

Harper  got  to  his  feet;  his  face  was  very  serious 
as  he  laid  his  pointed  linger  on  Wentworth's  chest 
as  though  to  accentuate  his  words: 

"Unless  Merridale,  Welch  ct  a/.,  severally  or  to 
gether,  take  it  into  their  heads  to  commit  another 
crime." 

"Another  crime!  Then  you  think  with  me  that  the 
captain  was  murdered!11 

"Murdered?  In  the  sight  of  the  law — no;  in  the 
sight  of  Heaven — yes.  But,  old  man,  that  subject 
is  too  painful  for  you  to  discuss  at  present.  How 
ever,  get  that  paper  under  lock  and  key  at  once; 


78  THE   RED   PAPER 

raise  heaven  and  earth  to  find  Grace  Merridale, 
and  get  it  off  your  hands.  Beware  of  Merridale 
et  al.  I'm  going  home.  I'm  fagged.  I've  got  to 
sleep.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow  and  we'll  talk  some 
more.  So  long,  old  man!" 

Harper  went  out,  and  somehow  Wentworth  felt 
as  if  the  light  had  gone  with  him;  he  had  a  feeling 
of  having  bid  him  good-bye  for  an  indefinite  time. 
"Damn  it!"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  looked  around 
the  silent  studio.  "I  believe  I  am  getting  to  be  an 
old  woman!" 


CHAPTER  VI 
GRACE  MERRIDALE 

THE  mood  to  work  was  not  on  him,  and  instead 
of  attempting  to  go  on  with  the  half-finished 
landscape   which   had   engaged  his  attention 
he  sat  down  at  the  table  and  with  his  focusing  glass 
studied   the   red  paper   through   the   sheet  of  ruby 
glass  laid  over  it.     But  the  wording  of  the  map  was 
so  filled  with   the  technicalities  of  navigation  that 
he  could  make  little  of  it.     An  arrow  marked  what 
was  evidently  the  beginning  of  a  trail,  and  under  it 
was  written : 

"OLD  FORT  CONCHO 
125  miles," 

while  the  line  of  the  trail  twisted  in  a  bewildering 
manner,  marked  here  and  there  with  marginal  figures. 
Wentworth  became  interested  in  tracing  out  the 
line,  and,  considering  the  wide  possibilities  open  to 
the  girl  when  in  possession  of  the  map,  so  interested, 
indeed,  that  he  forgot  for  the  moment  the  advisabil 
ity  of  continuing  his  work  of  photographing  it,  and 
so  engrossed  had  he  become  that  he  failed  to  hear 
the  light  tap  on  his  studio  door.  The  tap  was  re- 

79 


80  THE   RED    PAPER 

peated  several  times  before  he  awoke   to  the  fact 
that  some  one  desired  admittance. 

Drawing  a  newspaper  over  both  plan  and  glass,  he 
went  to  the  door,  expecting  to  see  Thomas  and  won 
dering  why  the  old  man  had  not  entered  at  his  call. 
But  it  was  not  Thomas;  instead,  in  the  hall  stood 
a  young  lady,  and  with  a  glance  Wentworth  recognized 
the  girl  he  had  seen  in  Merridale's  flat  the  day  before. 
In  the  face  of  wrhat  had  happened  there  he  so  closely 
associated  her  with  Merridale  himself  that  he  looked 
quickly  up  and  down  the  long  hall,  thinking  that  as 
a  matter  of  course  her  father  was  with  her,  but  she 
appeared  to  be  alone. 

In  his  surprise  at  seeing  her  the  young  man  gave 
the  lady  no  word  of  welcome,  nor  did  he  have  the 
common  courtesy  of  speaking  at  all,  nor  was  it  until 
he  was  sure  she  was  unattended  that  he  took  a  second 
look  at  her. 

Unlike  her  manner  on  the  day  before,  there  was  now 
no  repellent  haughtiness  in  the  lady's  bearing  or 
expression.  Instead,  she  appeared  to  shrink  at  sight 
of  the  man  before  her.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and 
her  red  lips  half-open  as  though  she  were  breathless 
from  haste  or  embarrassment.  As  she,  in  turn, 
recognized  Wentworth  her  dark  blue  eyes  opened 
wide  in  astonishment  and  her  beauty  was  accentuated 
as  the  color  deepened  in  her  face. 

"I — I  thought  to  see  Mr.  Wentworth,  sir,"  she 
stammered,  in  palpable  confusion. 

"Yes?     I  am  Mr.  Wentworth,"  returned  the  young 


GRACE  MERRIDALE  81 

man,  with  a  slight  bow  but  without  relaxing  his 
suspicion  as  to  the  lady's  motive  in  calling  on  him. 
"If  I  am  not  mistaken  this  is  Miss  Merridale." 

"Yes,  but  I  did  not  know  that  you — I  saw  you 
yesterday  with — him."  There  was  a  slight  emphasis 
on  the  final  pronoun. 

"I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  being  at  your  apart 
ments,"  returned  Wentworth,  with  a  trace  of  sarcasm 
in  his  answer.  He  thought  the  girl  would  under 
stand.  Then  realizing  the  fact  that  both  still  stood 
in  the  public  hall  and  that  it  might  be  policy  to  know 
her  business  and  perhaps  through  her  obtain  a 
knowledge  of  the  whereabouts  of  Welch — at  all 
events,  show  ordinary  decency  to  his  caller,  he  added: 
"Won't  you  come  in?'' 

He  turned  and  led  the  way  into  the  studio,  the  girl 
following  hesitatingly.  At  the  man's  invitation 
she  seated  herself  but  he  did  not  take  his  place  at 
her  side.  All  his  armor  was  on;  he  would  teach 
this  evident  emissary  from  an  unprincipled  ruffian 
that  he  was  wide  awake  and  proof  against  such  as 
she.  There  should  be  no  siren  act  for  him. 

"Well,  madam,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  girl  gave  a  fleeting  glance  at  the  finely  pro 
portioned  figure  standing  before  her,  then  her  eyes 
fell  to  her  clasped  hands.  "I  have  made  a  mistake, 
somehow,"  she  said.  "I — I  did  not  dream  you 
knew  him!  I  went  to  your  late  residence  and  was 
given  this  address.  I  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you! 
Please — please  do  not  tell  him  I  have  been  here — 


82  THE   RED    PAPER 

or  have  seen  you  since  yesterday.     I  am  afraid — " 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"Of — him."  Again  an  emphasis  on  the  pronoun 
referring  to  Merridale.  The  young  lady  plainly 
was  ill  at  ease — or  acting  superbly. 

"I  cannot  account  for  your  evident  surprise  at 
seeing  me  either  at  the  flat  or  here,"  said  Went- 
worth,  "neither  can  I  pretend  to  account  for  your 
fear.  I  had  never  seen  your  father.  I  called  on 
him  at  his  written  request,  not  on  my  own  initiative, 
and—" 

"My  father!" 

"Yes;    you  saw  me   there.     If  I  have  wounded 
your  feelings  by- 
He   stopped.     The   young   lady,   who   had   seated 
herself  on  the  edge  of  the  divan,  came  slowly  to  her 
feet,  her  great  eyes  opening  in  something  like  con 
sternation. 

"Did  he  tell  you  he  was  my  father?"  she  asked, 
leaning  forward. 

"Yes,  after  you  came  in  and  went  out.  He  spoke 
of  you  as  his  daughter,  and,  pardon  me,  of  your 
disagreement  with  your  cousin,  Grace.  I  am  inter 
ested  in  learning  of  your  cousin.  I  have  something 
for  her.  I  er — forgot  to  press  the  question  of  her 
whereabouts  with  your  father." 

The  girl  sank  back  on  the  divan,  and  for  a  moment 
buried  her  face  in  her  gloved  hands.  But  it  was 
only  for  a  moment;  presently  she  looked  up  at  the 
young  man,  who  stood  over  her. 


GRACE   MERRIDALE  83 

"I  am  Grace  Merridale,  ]\lr.  Wentworth — if, 
indeed,  you  are  Mr.  Wentworth.  When  I  saw  you 
there  I  thought  you  were  one  of  them,  or  one  with 
them.  I  am  happy  to  believe  I  was  wrong!  I  am 
glad  I  came,  if  only  to  undeceive  you.  That  man  is 
not  my  father;  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  is  my  uncle- 
but  by  marriage  only." 

"Not  your  father's  brother?" 

"No.  He  married  my  father's  maiden  sister — 
my  aunt — ten  years  ago.  She  is  dead.  His  name 
is  Bagshot." 

"You,  Grace  Merridale!"  exclaimed  Wentworth, 
in  astonishment.  "'And  his  name  is  Bagshot?  Then 
he  has  been  masquerading!  At  the  risk  of  offending 
you,  madam,  I  wish  to  denounce  him  as  a  villain; 
and  if,  indeed,  you  are  Grace  Merridale,  the  daughter 
of  my  father's  old  friend,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  your  being  in  company  with  such  a  character." 

The  man's  voice  was  hard  and  uncompromising. 
The  lady  looked  up  at  him  now  with  an  air  of  per 
plexity.  "Perhaps,"  continued  Wentworth,  "per 
haps  he  has  sent  you  for  a  certain  red  paper  which, 
as  Grace  Merridale,  will  soon  be  yours  for  the  asking." 

That  his  visitor  was  not  without  spirit  was  plain 
as  she  quickly  caught  the  undisguised  hostility  of 
Wentworth's  attitude. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  returned,  with  an  access 
of  haughtiness.  "With  you,  I  am  equally  at  a  loss. 
I  know  nothing  of  a  paper  of  any  color — certainly 
not  of  that  to  which  you  refer.  Nor  do  I  recognize 


84  THE   'RED   PAPER 

your  right  to  either  criticise  or  catechise  me.  I  am 
Grace  Merridale.  I  came  here  less  in  regard  to  any 
interest  of  mine  than  in  the  interest  of  the  son  of 
my  father's  oldest  and  best  friend.  And  I  came  at 
some  risk  to  myself — should  my  errand  be  known— 
to  warn  you." 

In  a  twinkling  Wentworth's  attitude,  mental  and 
physical,  changed. 

"You  came  to  \varn  me!   Against  what?" 

"Against  him — my  uncle — and  Joe  Planet.  I  over 
heard  them  talking  about  you  last  night,  and  — 

"One  moment,  please,"  interrupted  the  man. 
"First,  tell  me;  do  you  know  what  happened  yester 
day — in  the  flat — while  you  were  away?" 

"Xo.     I  did  not  get  home  until  after  six,  and— 

"Then  we  are  evidently  at  cross-purposes.  Let 
me  set  you  right  as  to  my  position."  And  Went- 
worth  took  from  the  table  the  letter  he  had  received, 
placed  it  in  the  girl's  hands  and  seated  himself  on 
the  end  of  the  divan. 

The  young  lady  read  the  note  hurriedly. 

"There  is  no  such  person  in  the  world  as  Thaddeus 
Merridale;"  she  said  quickly,  as  she  finished.  "What 
did  he  wish?" 

"He  wished  that  which  is  yours,  and  yours  alone; 
he  demanded  that  which  I  have  been  saving  for  you; 
that  which  will  make  its  possessor  rich.  I  have  it 
here,  and  have  just  discovered  its  character." 

"I — I  do  not  think  I  understand,"  was  the  reply, 
and  the  tone  of  the  girl's  voice  was  softened  by  wonder. 


GRACE   MERRIDALE  85 

"I  presume  not.  I  would  make  but  a  blundering 
diplomat,  I  fear,"  said  Wentworth.  "I  had  no 
intention  of  offending  you."  And  here  he  launched 
into  the  story  of  the  red  paper,  beginning  where  his 
father  had  told  him  of  it,  and  ending  with  the  adven 
ture  of  the  day  before.  Ere  he  was  half  through 
his  visitor  had  altered  her  repellent  attitude.  Her 
beautiful  eyes  shone  with  excitement  or  turned  soft 
as  the  story  progressed;  her  bosom  heaved,  her 
color  came  and  went,  and  to  Wentworth,  who  grew 
eloquent  under  the  flattery  of  her  attention  and  in 
tense  interest,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  looking  at  his 
visitor  from  a  new  and  advantageous  angle.  He 
had  never  had  much  experience  with  the  opposite 
sex,  nor  was  he  ever  impressed  by  a  complex  per 
sonality.  He  had  been  at  fault  with  his  caller;  he 
saw  it  now.  Surely  there  could  be  no  duplicity  in 
his  more  than  merely  fair  listener.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  never  met  with  a  person  so  innocently 
transparent  or  so  faultless  in  face  and  figure. 

As  he  talked  he  became  more  observant.  He  had 
had  but  a  fleeting  look  at  her  the  day  before,  but  now 
he  noted  her  every  detail,  from  the  set  of  the  steel- 
gray  costume  she  wore  to  her  golden  hair,  the  fine 
texture  of  her  cheeks  and  the  daintiness  of  her 
small  hands  which  lay  folded  in  her  lap.  Above 
her  hung  the  faint  perfume  he  had  noticed  in  her 
room. 

"But  you  do  not  know  that  he  had  anything  to  do 
with  your  father's  death — or  that  he  was  your  father's 


86  THE   KEJ)  PAPER 

traducer,"  she  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath  as  he 
completed  the  story. 

"No.     I  believe  it  is  a  man  called  Welch." 

"I  never  heard  of  such  a  person,"  returned  the 
girl.  "But  forgive  me,"  she  continued  entreat- 
ingly,  holding  out  her  hand.  "I  doubted  you,  but 
I  doubt  you  no  longer.  My  uncle  told  me  nothing 
of  these  things — but  we  seldom  speak;  we  have 
nothing  in  common." 

"Then  you  will  admit  my  right  to  question.  It 
was  for  your  interest,  you  see."  And  Wentworth 
took  the  extended  hand. 

"Yes,  and  to  criticise,  perhaps.  You  asked  me 
how  it  is  that  I  am  with  him.  Indeed,  it  needs  an 
explanation.  I  came  north  with  Mr.  Bagshot;  it 
was  necessary  for  me  to  be  here  and  there  was  no 
one  else  to  come  with  me.  He  proposed  acting  as 
my  escort,  saying  he  had  business  here.  And  I  am 
a  perfect  stranger  in  New  York.  We  went  to  a 
hotel  for  a  week,  then  went  to  the  flat  because  he 
said  it  would  be  cheaper  for  him.  I  might  have 
guessed  that  something  was  wrong,  but  did  not 
until  last  night  when  I  overheard  him  talking  with 
Joe  Planet,  a  Mexican.  Now  I  know  he  had  an 
ulterior  motive  for  coming;  perhaps  the  flat  was 
meant  for  a  trap.  I  think  so;  I  know  his  character. 
I  am  afraid  of  him.  He  would  kill  me  if  he  knew 
I  were  here." 

"And  what  did  you  overhear?" 

"It  must  have  been  about  the  paper.     He  had 


GRACE   MERRIDALE  87 

been  drinking.  He  talked  loud.  He  threatened 
you  by  name.  I  heard  him  say  that  he  would  have 
the  thing,  if  it  landed  him  in  jail.  I  was  frightened, 
and — and  I  determined  to  tell  you." 

She  was  looking  at  Wentworth  as  a  woman  only 
looks  when  she  has  perfect  confidence  in  a  man. 

"I  can  hardly  thank  you  enough  for  your  interest, " 
he  returned  warmly.  "  Forewarned  is  forearmed, 
you  know;  and  I  really  think  that  fellow  will  not 
care  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  me.  Now  that 
you  are  here,"  he  said,  rising,  "let  me  show  you  the 
bone  of  contention.  This  is  the  red  paper.  I  was 
about  to  photograph  it." 

He  moved  to  the  table  and  she  followed  him.  He 
explained  the  meaning  of  the  paper  as  she  looked  at 
it  wonderingly. 

"You  may  have  it  now,"  he  said.     "It  is  yours." 

The  girl  took  up  the  map,  but  there  was  no  expres 
sion  of  greed  in  her  eyes  as  she  said: 

"You  tell  me  it  is  worth  much;  is  it  very  much?" 

"Harper  told  me  it  would  make  you  fabulously 
wealthy. " 

To  Wentworth's  astonishment  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"My  father  made  this,"  she  said  softly.  "It  is 
his  writing.  He  died  two  weeks  after  coming  back 
from  a  trip  into  western  Texas— died  suddenly  at 
my  aunt's  house  in  Kerrville.  It  was  before  she 
married  Bagshot.  Your  father  was  there.  I  was 
but  a  child." 


88  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Yes." 

She  laid  the  paper  down  and  shuddered  as  she  sank 
into  a  chair. 

"It  is  of  the  color  of  blood,"  she  said.  "It  has 
brought  death  to  two  men — my  father  and  yours. 
I  am  afraid  of  it." 

"Will  you  take  it  now?" 

"And  relieve  you  of  a  responsibility?" 

"Not  that.     I  can  bear  that;  but  it  is  yours." 

"Not  until  December,"  jhe  returned,  looking  up 
with  a  lovely  smile  shining  through  her  tears.  "  Must 
not  you  keep  it  until—  Oh!" 

She  suddenly  bent  her  bright  head  as  though 
listening,  and  through  the  quiet  of  the  room  there 
came  the  sound  of  men's  footsteps  on  the  bare  floor 
of  the  hall  without;  then  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  her 
face  blanching  as  a  thunderous  knock  came  on  the 
studio  door. 

"Oh!  What  shall  I  do?"  she  cried  in  a  strident 
whisper  as  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  heart,  her 
eyes  widening  in  sudden  panic. 

John  Wentworth  was  also  startled  by  the  loud 
summons,  but  he  did  not  lose  his  presence  of 
mind. 

"It  is  probably  my  servant, "  he  said  easily,  though 
the  character  of  the  knock  made  him  doubt  the 
truth  of  his  own  statement. 

"But  I  would  not  be  seen  by  any  one — by  any 
one!  And  I  know  it  is  he  and  Jose — they  were 
coming  together!  Oh,  hide  me  somewhere!  Quick!" 


GRACE   MERRIDALE  89 

She  looked  as  if  she  were  about  to  faint,  and  John 
saw  that  her  fear  was  not  to  be  trifled  with. 

"Will  you  trust  me?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"Yes!     Oh,  yes!" 

"Then  step  into  my  dark  room  for  a  moment.  I 
will  attend  to  the  matter,  whatever  it  may  be." 

He  walked  to  the  door  of  the  developing-room  and 
swung  it  open.  She  entered  without  a  word,  and 
he  let  the  door  close  behind  her  and  then  began  to 
move  rapidly. 

Striding  to  the  table  he  was  about  to  take  the  red 
paper  from  under  the  glass  when  he  heard  the  door 
of  the  studio  open.  With  a  quick  movement  he  drew 
a  newspaper  over  the  map  and  turned  round.  The 
girl  had  been  right.  He  was  face  to  face  with  the 
man  he  had  knocked  down  the  day  before,  and  behind 
him  there  came  a  thin,  dark  young  fellow,  his  foreign- 
looking  face  adorned  with  mustache  and  goatee. 

A  sudden  sense  of  recognition  lighted  through  the 
brain  of  Wentworth,  but  he  could  not  locate  the 
person  nor  did  he  have  time  for  much  conjecture,  for 
Bagshot  came  forward  to  the  center  of  the  room, 
his  face  set  with  a  desperate  determination  there 
was  no  mistaking.  For  a  moment  he  looked  around 
the  large  apartment  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  the 
young  man  was  alone,  then  he  planted  his  cane 
firmly  on  the  floor  and  drew  up  his  body. 

"Now,  sir,  "  he  began,  with  an  air  of  determination, 
but  without  truculence,  "we  have  come  here  to  see 
if  you  can  be  convinced  of  the  reasonableness  of  the 


90  THE   RED   PAPER 

demand  I  made  yesterday.  Mr.  Wentworth,  you 
have  and  hold  that  which  is  mine  by  right  of  transfer. 
We  will  admit  that  yesterday  I  went  a  bit  too  far, 
but  you  punished  me  for  it — punished  me  as  I  de 
served.  I  see,  too,  that  you  are  a  man  of  resource. 
You  would  be  valuable  to  me.  Let  us  be  friends — 
let  us  come  to  terms. 


CHAPTER  VII 
BAGSHOT  MOVES 

a  moment  Wentworth  looked  hard  at  the 
man  before  him  without  speaking;  in  truth,  he 
was  silent  from  inward  rage  at  the  impudent 
temerity  of  the  fellow,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was 
oppressed  by  the  near  presence  of  the  young  lady, 
and  the  knowledge  that  the  red  paper  was  actually 
within  easy  reach  of  his  now  avowed  enemy. 

Beyond  these  things  was  the  insulting  swagger  of 
self-sufficiency  which  marked  Bagshot's  bearing  as 
he  strode  into  the  room  without  permission  and 
without  the  common  courtesy  of  removing  his  hat. 

Wentworth  had  not  taken  Miss  Merridale's  account 
of  the  threat  as  very  serious.  It  was  beyond  his 
comprehension  that  Bagshot  would  dare  put  in 
force  any  attempt  to  obtain  the  coveted  paper  by 
open  violence,  and  he  looked  upon  the  conversation 
overheard  by  the  young  lady  as  but  the  vaporings 
of  a  disappointed  and  beaten  man  in  his  cups.  But 
Bagshot  had  come,  backed  by  another,  and  Went 
worth  was  in  no  position  to  meet  him;  the  mere 
presence  of  the  two  was  a  menace,  and  the  young 

91 


92  THE   RED   PAPER 

man's  quick  brain  determined  that  to  temporize 
had  become  necessary,  though  it  would  not  do  to 
show  the  least  fear  to  his  adversary.  He  gulped 
once  or  twice^as  he  looked  at  the  man,  a  dull  but 
dangerous  anger  rising  in  him. 

"As  a  rule,  sir,"  he  said  at  last,  "when  a  man 
knocks  at  my  door,  he  awaits  permission  to  enter. 
You  did  not.  Also,  out  of  regard  to  common  decen 
cy,  sir,  he  removes  his  hat.  This  is  a  private  apart 
ment.  Take  off  your  hat  before  I  knock  it  off. " 

He  spoke  quietly,  directing  his  words  to  Bagshot; 
of  the  other  he  took  no  apparent  notice,  though  he 
kept  him  in  view;  but  the  foreigner,  whom  the  young 
man  had  already  placed  in  his  mind  as  Joe  Planet, 
promptly  removed  his  soft  Stetson  and,  walking  to 
the  easel,  spread  his  legs,  clasped  his  hands  behind 
him  and,  to  all  appearances,  became  absorbed  in 
studying  the  half-finished  painting. 

Bagshot  followed  suit  so  far  as  to  remove  his  own 
hat,  but  he  stood  stockily  in  the  position  he  had 
assumed. 

"Now,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Merridale?" 
concluded  Wentworth. 

"I  told  you  what  I  came  for,"  said  the  other. 

"So  you  did — so  you  did,"  returned  the  young 
man  with  growing  confidence.  "But  you  lacked  tact 
in  your  approach;  you  lacked  tact  yesterday.  What 
are  your  present  terms?" 

Bagshot  opened  his  small  eyes  at  the  unexpected 
reply. 


BAGSHOT   MOVES  93 

"What  are  yours?"  he  blurted  out. 

"Ten  million  dollars,  sir,"  returned  Wentworth, 
with  an  assumption  at  an  easiness  he  did  not  feel. 
•'The  character  of  the  paper  warrants  the  price." 

"You  told  me  you  didn't  know  the  character  of 
the  paper!"  exclaimed  Bagshot,  his  face  growing  red. 

"I  did  not  yesterday,  but  I  do  to-day." 

"How—how—" 

"Never  mind  how.  The  paper  is  a  map  of  the 
lost  San  Saba  mine.  There  is  the  fact,  but  there  is 
an  alternative  to  my  demand.  You  may  think  it 
over  and  give  me  your  answer  to-morrow." 

"Wentworth,"  Bagshot  said,  knitting  his  brows 
as  he  walked  over  to  the  divan  and  dropped  heavily 
upon  it,  "I  came  here  to-day  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  that  paper.  It  is  mine — do  you  under 
stand?  And  I  will  have  it.  There  will  be  no  to 
morrow  in  this,  so  we  will  settle  at  once." 

"As  you  would  have  attempted  to  do  last  night, 
sir,  had  it  not  been  for  my  man." 

Bagshot  flushed  a  dull  red,  but  made  no  direct 
reply  to  the  thrust  as  he  returned:  "I  will  extend 
my  offer.  I  \vill  give  you  one  thousand  dollars  for 
it,  down,  and  guarantee  you  twenty-five  thousand 
in  six  months.  But  ten  million!  Well,  sir,  \ve  are 
not  here  to  joke;  you  will  discover  that  much! 
You  speak  of  an  alternative;  what  is  it?" 

"That  you  bring  me  face  to  face  with  Welch," 
returned  John  quietly,  but  with  an  increasing  sense 
of  uneasiness. 


94  THE   RED   PAPER 

This  man  had  threatened  him;  had  he  come  to 
do  violence?  The  tone  of  his  voice  indicated  as  much. 
Wentworth  cast  his  eyes  about  the  room  for  some 
means  of  defense  in  case  of  necessity,  but  saw  noth 
ing  better  than  a  chair.  The  fencing  foils  and  Indian 
clubs  were  in  a  far  corner,  with  a  mass  of  loose 
furniture  from  the  house  between  him  and  thcin. 
There  was  a  revolver  in  his  bedroom,  but  it  was  not 
loaded,  nor  did  he  know,  in  the  confusion  of  the  place, 
where  to  lay  hands  on  its  cartridges.  Suppose  the 
two  men  set  upon  him,  conquered  him,  and  searched 
the  studio? 

Whatever  became  of  the  paper,  Grace  Merridale, 
now  crouching  in  terror  in  the  developing-room, 
would  surely  be  discovered  and  be  made  to  suffer, 
and  it  was  really  the  possible  consequences  to  her 
rather  than  to  himself  that  held  the  young  man  from 
becoming  openly  defiant.  He  felt  cornered.  If 
Thomas  would  come  the  situation  would  be  altered; 
as  it  was,  he  dared  not  bolt  for  assistance,  leaving 
the  two  to  search  the  place  in  his  absence.  He 
thought  of  it,  but  his  chivalrous  responsibility  for 
the  lady  hidden  in  the  place  forbade  him  allowing  her 
to  be  discovered.  There  would  be  but  one  interpreta 
tion  in  such  an  event,  and  though  John  Wentworth 
was  no  Sir  Galahad,  he  was  no  coward.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  draw  to  himself  the  fire  of  the 
enemy. 

As  he  looked  around  the  room  he  noticed  the 
Mexican  had  left  the  easel  and  was  now  walking 


BAdSHOT    MOVES  95 

about,  eying  a  bit  of  bric-a-brac  here  or  a  sketch 
there,  apparently  paying  no  attention  to  either 
Bagshot  or  Wentworth.  He  had  not  sought  an 
introduction  nor  had  one  been  offered;  to  John  it 
was  clear  that  he  was  not  looked  upon  as  an  equal, 
but  even  in  the  whirl  of  the  young  man's  mind  he 
was  conscious  of  asking  himself  where  he  had  met 
or  seen  the  fellow  before. 

But  suddenly  he  saw  more  than  the  moving  man, 
and  all  thought  about  him  or  self-defense  disappeared. 
It  was  with  a  feeling  of  consternation  that  his  eye 
fell  on  the  exposed  corner  of  the  red  glass  showing 
from  under  the  edge  of  the  newspaper  he  had  hurriedly 
and  but  partially  drawn  over  it.  His  heart  almost 
stood  still.  Would  Bagshot  notice  it?  Not  from 
where  he  sat,  but  if  he  should  approach  the  table  it 
would  be  in  plain  sight;  the  red  glass  would  suggest 
the  presence  of  the  document.  Wentworth  mut 
tered  a  curse.  Bagshot  laughed  harshly  as  he  re 
ferred  to  the  young  man's  demand. 

"Welch  was  a  bluff  to  try  you,"  he  sneered. 
"Whatever  effect  he  might  have  had  on  your  father, 
it  was  a  question  if  the  old  man's  reputation  was 
much  to  you.  If  it  was,  it  would  take  time  to  work 
you,  and  time  is  an  object  to  me." 

At  this  open  sneer  Wentworth 's  self-control   was 
almost  lost,  but  it  decided  him  on  an  extreme  measure1 
"One   moment,    sir,''    he   said,   and    stepped    toward 
the   bedroom,  intending   1o   get   his   revolver,  which, 
loaded  or  unloaded,  would  have  a  strong  moral  effect. 


96  THE   RED   PAPER 

"No,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  other,  springing  to  his 
feet  as  if  he  had  read  the  young  man's  intention,  and 
planting  himself  in  the  path  before  Wentworth  could 
get  half-way  across  the  studio.  "I  am  on  to  your 
game,  sir.  You  will  not  arm  yourself.  You  will 
come  to  my  terms  this  instant  or  I  will  take  other 
steps.  Yrou  don't  know  me,  young  man;  if  you  did 
you  wouldn't  wait  long  to  decide  favorably  on  any 
offer." 

He  lifted  his  cane  threateningly.  Wentworth  re 
coiled  a  pace. 

"Would  you  have  me  repeat  my  performance  of 
yesterday?"  he  asked. 

"Do  it,  if  you  can!  I  know  my  position,  sir — I 
want  your  answer  now!" 

"Then  have  it  now!"  shouted  Wentworth,  losing 
his  hold  on  himself.  "If  you  know  your  position, 
so  do  I,  and  I  know  you.  Your  name  is  Bagshot; 
you  are  no  better  than  a  blackleg,  and,  by  God! 
not  for  twice  ten  million  shall  you  have  that  paper 
from  me.  Now,  get  out  of  my  way;  more  than  that 
— leave  this  room  at  once  or  I  will  call  in  the  police." 

Bagshot's  light  blue  eye  seemed  to  turn  smaller 
as  he  heard  his  name  and  this  open  defiance.  His 
breathing  became  audible,  and  he  was  about  to  say 
something,  when,  from  behind  his  own  back,  Went 
worth  heard  the  words: 

"Ah!     A  a  id  csta  lo  encoutre'." 

He  did  not  understand  the  language,  but  the 
exclamation  was  forcible,  and  he  turned  in  time  to 


BAGSHOT   MOVES  97 

see  the  lithe  foreigner,  now  by  the  table,  sweep  the 
newspaper  to  the  floor  and  fully  expose  the  ruby 
glass.  He  saw  the  fellow  slide  the  paper  from  under 
it,  fold  it  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  noted  the 
sallow  countenance  light  with  triumphant  animation. 
The  thing  had  been  done  in  less  than  five  seconds. 

Bagshot's  hard  features  suddenly  relaxed  into  a 
grin  that  was  nothing  less  than  repulsive,  then  the 
devil  of  greed  leaped  into  his  face  as  he  stepped 
toward  his  henchman.  From  Wentworth's  heart 
the  blood  went  with  a  rush.  He  had  lost — or  almost 
lost — the  precious  map,  and  the  quick  rage  which  took 
possession  of  him  was  an  unholy  thing  though  it 
sprang  from  a  righteous  cause.  For  a  brief  instant  he 
had  no  plan  of  action,  but  tamely  to  permit  the  paper 
to  be  taken  from  the  studio  was  far  from  his  intention. 

At  that  moment  the  face  of  the  girl  seemed  to 
appear  before  him — a  face  filled  with  mild  reproach. 
But  she  was  still  hidden — the  dark-room  door  was 
still  closed,  and  he  knew  this  to  be  a  figment  of  his 
brain  born  of  excitement. 

But  he  would  not  have  her  point  her  finger  at  him. 
He  was  no  coward — he  would  fight  for  her. 

It  was  all  in  an  instant.  His  muscles  seemed  to 
knit  together  of  themselves,  and  as  Bagshot  stepped 
by  him,  as  if  in  contempt  of  his  presence,  the  violently 
angry  man  drove  his  list  into  the  Southerner's  fat 
neck,  striking  him  just  below  the  right  ear,  and  send 
ing  him  to  the  floor  with  a  crash. 

Wentworth  did  not   stop   to  mark  the  extent  of 


98  THE   RED   PAPER 

the  injury  he  had  done.  With  a  bound  he  was  at 
the  hall-door,  which  he  locked,  dropping  the  key 
into  his  pocket,  then,  with  a  slow  and  determined 
step,  he  advanced  on  the  Mexican,  all  the  blood  in 
his  body  seemingly  surcharging  his  brain.  He  would 
kill  this  fellow  with  his  bare  hands,  if  necessary, 
but  he  would  have  that  map.  The  law  would  justify 
him — Grace  Merridale  would  thank  him. 

He  passed  Bagshot  as  that  individual  was  struggling 
to  his  elbow,  one  hand  to  his  head,  his  face  filled  with 
bewilderment,  like  one  recovering  from  a  swoon. 
As  Wentworth  came  near  the  table  the  Mexican, 
who  had  stood  as  one  petrified  when  his  patron  went 
down,  suddenly  became  active.  With  the  quickness 
of  a  cat  he  whisked  to  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
putting  the  heavy  piece  of  furniture  between  them,  his 
hands  on  it,  his  beady  black  eyes  shining  with  fear  and 
malignancy,  his  body  bent  for  a  leap  in  any  direction. 

To  Wentworth  his  action  was  enlightening  as  by 
it  two  things  were  made  plain:  first,  that  the  fellow 
was  intent  not  on  attack  but  on  escape;  and  second, 
that  in  all  probability  he  was  unarmed  and  had  looked 
to  his  patron  for  protection. 

But,  armed  or  unarmed,  it  made  little  difference 
to  the  outraged  athlete  as  he  sprang  around  the  table, 
though  like  a  flash  the  lithe  Mexican  eluded  him 
by  running  around  the  edge,  calling  in  Spanish  to 
his  companion  who  was  trying  to  recover  his  senses 
and  feet.  Twice  did  the  two  circle  the  broad  niahog- 
anv,  and  Wentworth,  recognizing  that  such  a  chaso 


BAGSHOT   MOVES  99 

would  be  futile,  made  a  short  cut  of  the  affair  by  lifting 
the  heavy  obstacle  and  tipping  it  over  toward  the 
foreigner. 

The  massive  table  crashed  to  the  floor  just  as  Bag- 
shot  recovered  himself  sufficiently  to  stand  up,  and 
the  Mexican,  abandoning  his  now  useless  intrench- 
ment,  fled  across  the  room  to  the  hall  door  where 
he  tore  at  the  knob  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  get  out. 
But  the  door  was  fast,  and  as  Wentworth,  now  dom 
inated  by  uncontrolled  rage,  ran  toward  him,  in 
desperation  the  Mexican  turned  to  meet  him.  There 
might  have  been  something  in  the  American's  eye 
that  told  of  his  intention  for  with  one  look  at  Went- 
worth's  face  the  Southerner  let  out  a  shrill  scream  of 
terror,  then,  like  a  wild  animal  driven  into  a  corner, 
he  sprang  and  grappled  with  his  pursuer. 

For  a  moment  the  two  swayed  over  the  floor, 
the  Mexican  squirming  and  twisting  from  hold  after 
hold  until  at  last  his  silent  and  earnest  opponent 
had  him  firmly  by  the  throat.  Wentworth  held  the 
man,  bending  him  backward,  until  he  saw  the  staring 
black  eyes  bulge  from  their  sockets  and  the  tongue 
start  from  the  thin,  open  lips.  It  was  just  as  he  was 
ready  to  drop  his  limp  victim  and  recover  the  stolen 
map  that  he  felt  a  sickening  blow  on  the  back  of 
his  own  head.  The  room  seemed  to  flare  with  a 
sudden  crimson  flame,  his  stomach  turned  to  water, 
and  everything  went  dark.  He  loosed  his  hold, 
staggered  against  the  wall,  hung  there  a  moment, 
then  slid  unconscious  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  PLAN 

WHEN  Wentworth  came  to  himself  he  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  he  lay  on  the  floor,  that 
Miss  Merridale  was  bending  over  him, 
and  that  his  head  was  wet  with  water  from  the 
sponge  she  was  using. 

He  struggled  up  so  that  he  rested  against  the  wall 
though  his  exertion  had  caused  the  room  to  whirl 
in  a  mad  revel. 

The  girl's  face  was  a  study.  It  was  colorless,  and 
held  an  expression  of  deep  solicitude,  but  there  was 
nothing  tremulous  about  the  sweet  mouth  and  round, 
firm  chin.  As  the  young  man  opened  his  eyes  her 
lips  parted  in  an  exquisite  smile,  and  her  face  became 
animated. 

"How — how  long  have  I  been  this  way?"  asked 
John. 

"Barely  five  minutes — not  more,"  she  said  gently. 
"It  must  have  been  a  glancing  blow — and  your  hair 
saved  you.  I  cannot  find  any  wound/' 

"Who  struck  me?" 

"Bagshot — with  his  cane.  When  he  fell  I  pushed 
open  the  door  a  trifle.  You  must  have  knocked 

100 


THE   PLAN  101 

him  down.  He  got  up  and  struck  you  from  behind 
while  you  were  struggling  with  Jose." 

"Then  it  was  Planet?" 

"Yes.     What  has  he  done?" 

"Done?    He  has  outraged  me  and  robbed  you." 

"You  mean  he  has  stolen  the  paper?" 

"Yes.  He  found  it  where  it  lay  on  the  table — 
fool  that  I  was  not  to  have  taken  it.  I  was  fighting 
for  it." 

The  girl  drew  back,  but  a  wonderful  tenderness 
shone  from  her  countenance. 

' '  Ah !     Fighting— for  me  ? ' ' 

"Ay,  for  you;  for  what  e..;j  or  whom  else?  Did 
they  see  you? 

"No — oh,  no!  I  dared  not  show  myself;  the 
result  wou'd  have  been  awful  for  me.  Planet  stood 
still  a  minute,  rubbing  his  throat  and  trying  to 
speak,  and  Bagshot  bent  over  you.  I  watched  him 
go  through  your  pockets  until  he  found  the  key  to 
the  hall  door.  He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  in  a  few 
seconds  he  took  Jose  by  the  arm  and  hurried  him 
out.  They  didn't  wait  for  the  elevator  for  I  heard 
them  running  down  stairs.  Then  I  got  water  and 
came  to  you.  I — I  was  frightened  at  first,  but  am 
glad  it  is  no  worse.  And  you  really  risked  your  life 
for  me!  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  ?  " 

"You  needn't,"  said.  Wentworth,  pulling  himself 
up.  "Let  us  say  that  it  was  less  for  you  than  for 
the  principle  of  the  thing.  My  father's  spirit  would 
reproach  me  if  1  had  been  weak  enough  to  come  to 


102  THE   RED   PAPER 

terms  with  that  man.  And  you  are  robbed  of  a 
fortune!  Now,  by  all  the  gods  of  mythology!'  He 
got  no  further,  for  the  room  started  to  whirl  again, 
and  he  fell  back  against  the  wall. 

"Don't  attempt  to  talk  now,"  whispered  the  girl. 
"Let  me  help  you  to  the  divan."  And  in  her  feminine 
solicitude,  which  made  her  blind  to  the  convention 
alities,  she  put  her  strong  young  arm  around  him 
and  helped  him  to  the  couch  on  which  he  fell  heavily, 
sick  and  faint. 

After  an  interval  he  opened  his  eyes.  "I  will  soon 
be  all  right, "  he  said,  detaining  the  hand  that  bathed 
his  face.  "You  are  a  ministering  angel — but  what 
are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"You  mean  about  the  map?" 

"Yes." 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  do,"  she  answered,  dis 
engaging  her  hand  from  his.  "Open  defiance  would 
gain  nothing.  My  uncle  is  not  without  ingenious 
resources  if  he  is  without  principle;  that  is  why  I 
did  not  raise  an  alarm.  He  would  say  he  had  stolen 
nothing;  that  he  struck  you  in  self-defense  after  you 
assaulted  him.  There  would  be  color  in  that.  And 
I  cannot  prove  my  right  to  the  paper,  while  unfort 
unately,  your  word  alone  wrould  not  go  far  in  law.  It 
is  true  he  could  not  prove  his  assertion  that  I  have 
transferred  my  right  to  him,  for  I  have  never  done 
so,  but  if  worse  came  to  worse  he  would  copy  the 
essential  parts  of  the  map  and  destroy  the  original. 
I  could  not  prevent  him,  and— 


THE   PLAN  l()3 

"But  I  can  and  will,''  interrupted  Wentworth. 
"My  father  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  dropped  the 
matter  here. " 

"But  Bagshot  has  the  paper." 

'''And  I  have  no  copy!"  groaned  the  man.  "What 
you  say  is  true.  We  are  defeated — unless  you 
will  be  directed  by  me  and  have  the  spirit  to 
act." 

•'And  what  would  you  have  me  do,  Mr.  Went 
worth?" 

"I  mean  this,"  said  Wentworth,  struggling  to  a 
sitting  position.  "That  which  may  not  be  gained 
by  force  or  law  might  be  gained  by  subterfuge.  One 
must  sometimes  fight  fire  with  tire." 

"I  do  not — I  do  not  understand,"  she  faltered. 

"I  see  how  it  can  be  done,"  was  the  quick  reply. 
"  It  is  well  Bagshot  does  not  dream  that  you  witnessed 
his  coming  or  knows  you  are  here;  well  that  you 
raised  no  alarm.  There  is  but  one  way.  You  must 
steal  that  paper  from  your  uncle--for  of  course  he 
and  not  Planet  has  it  by  this.  You  must  play  the 
innocent.  Take  Lady  Macbeth's  advice  to  her 
husband  —look  like  a  flower,  but  be  a  serpent.  Stick 
to  him.  Your  chance  will  come.  As  for  me,  I  have 
a  grievance  apart  from  yours,  and  it  will  be  but  a 
few  hours  before  I  face  that  fellow  again."  The 
.speaker's  enthusiasm  made  him  stronger.  "I  will 
corner  him,  by  Heaven!  and  before  he  has  time  to 
copy  the  map!  I  will  play  against  him  openly  while 
vou  work  in  secret.  That  brute  shall  not  get  that 


104  THE   RED   PAPER 

which  is  yours — that  which  is  my  duty  to  see  that 
you  get — so  long  as  I  can  fight  for  you.'7 

The  young  lady's  face  colored  deeply  as  she  listened 
to  this  outburst  of  modern  knight  errantry.  "Ah, 
but  I  have  found  a  friend!"  she  said,  quick  tears 
filling  her  blue  eyes.  "Do  not  think  I  lack  spirit. 
I  see  your  plan,  and,  indeed,  under  the  circumstances, 
it  is  more  feasible  than  a  resort  to  violence.  I  will 
do  it.  I  will  stay  by  him  through  everything — and 
watch  for  my  opportunity." 

"You  will  steal  it?" 

"I  promise,  though  it  would  not  be  theft.  He  shall 
not  profit  by  that  paper,  even  if  I  have  to  destroy 
it.  It  is  not  wealth  I  wish.  I  have  ample  means 
besides  my  ranch,  but  it  would  be  a  sin  to  let  him 
triumph  in  this.  I  shall  follow  him  like  a  shadow." 

She  appeared  equal  to  that  and  more  as  she  stood 
up  and  held  out  her  ungloved  hand  to  Wentworth. 
''It  is  best  that  I  go  now,"  she  said. 

The  young  man  took  the  extended  hand,  and  on 
an  impulse  raised  it  to  his  lips.  It  was  done  in  per 
fect  respect.  The  girl  flushed  rosily,  but  the  hand 
was  not  snatched  away  in  prudish  haste.  The 
act  was  like  the  sealing  of  a  compact  between 
them. 

"  If  the  Lord  lets  me  live,  I  will  see  you  to-morrow, " 
said  Wentworth,  as  the  smooth  fingers  slid  from  his 
grasp. 

"Be  careful — oh,  be  careful!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Have  no  fear  for  me,"  returned  John,  with  the 


THE   PLAN  105 

ghost  of  a  smile.     "I  shall  not  be  alone  this  time— 
and  I  am  stronger  with  a  new  strength." 

She  left  him,  but  her  cheeks  were  like  roses  as  she 
turned  away. 

If  John  Wentworth  had  not  been  a  perfectly 
healthy  animal,  the  shock  of  his  experience  would 
have  led  to  a  fever,  but  instead  of  worrying  over  past 
events,  he  allowed  the  prospects  of  the  future  to 
comfort  him.  He  was  still  too  weak  and  miserable 
to  attempt  to  lift  the  overturned  table,  or  even 
gather  its  scattered  contents,  and  lay  back  on  the 
divan  until  nature  took  him  in  hand  and  sent  him 
into  a  restoring  sleep.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
when  he  awoke  with  a  start  to  find  Thomas  standing 
over  him. 

"I  have  a  letter  for  you.  sir,"  said  the  discreet 
butler,  as  his  master  opened  his  eyes.  He  appeared 
not  to  have  noticed  the  condition  of  the  room. 

Wentworth  sat  up  and  looked  around  in  the  dazed 
and  comical  way  of  one  aroused  from  deep  slumber. 
His  brain  was  clear,  albeit  his  head  was  sore  and 
there  was  a  lump  on  it,  but  he  wras  in  good  humor. 

"A  letter,  Thomas?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  found  it  in  the  box." 

"I  think  the  room  needs  a  little  of  your  care, 
Thomas,"  said  Wentworth,  tearing  the  flap  of  the 
envelope. 

"I  dessay,  sir."  said  the  butler,  without  moving, 
but  his  fine  old  face  was  troubled. 

'And,  Thomas,  I  have  a  very  bad  head." 


106  THE    RED   PAPER 

"Yes,  sir.  Quite  natural,  sir,11  was  the  imperturb 
able  reply.  "Shall  I  get  you  some  soda,  sir?" 

Wentworth  looked  up  quickly  and  caught  the 
expression  of  doubt  and  solicitude  on  the  old  man's 
face.  "Why,  you  superannuated  old  idiot!"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  affectionate  banter.  "You  think  I 
have  been  on  a  spree!  Not  on  your  life,  Thomas. 
I  simply  had  a  brief  interview  with  the  parties  who 
tried  to  flim-flam  you  last  night,  and  I  got  a  blow  on 
the  head." 

"Good  Lord,  sir!"  Thomas'  face  turned  pale. 
"And  I  was  not  here!" 

"That  was  fairly  evident  to  me.  No  one  was 
here— of  consequence— to  defend  me." 

"God  bless  my  soul,  Master  John!  And  did  they 
rob  you?" 

"Personally  I  think  I  lost  nothing — and  yet, 
Thomas.  I  may  have.  But  I  feel  pretty  sure  I  have 
their  goat. " 

"Their  goat,  sir?"  Modern  slang  was  lost  on  the 
old  servitor.  He  glanced  quickly  around  the  room 
as  if  expecting  to  see  one  of  the  genus  Capricornus, 
then  looked  into  the  face  of  his  master,  the  trouble 
deepening  on  his  own. 

"I  am  speaking  metaphorically,  my  good  friend. 
I  do  not  refer  to  an  animal,  but  to  a  condition.  Of 
course  nothing  will  prompt  you  to  mention  what  i 
have  told  you.'' 

"Yes,  sir;  of  course,  sir.     But  if  the  police— 

"Never  mind  the  police,  Thomas.     1  will  take  care 


THE    PLAN  107 

of  that  end  of  it.  Now,  if  you  will  run  out  and  get 
me  some  witch-hazel  I'll  try  to  reduce  this  bump  of 
combativeness  on  my  head. 

"Yes,  sir,  certainly,  sir;  and—  He  stopped  as 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  something  on  the  floor.  He 
stooped  and  picked  it  up  gingerly,  his  face  becoming 
set  as  he  recognized  and  held  out  a  lady's  embroidered 
handkerchief.  "I  beg  pardon,  sir." 

"Strange!"    said    Wentworth,    putting    down    the 
unopened  letter  and  taking  the  dainty  square  of  fine 
linen  held  toward  him.     "I  wonder  how  this  thing 
got  here.     It  must  belong  to  a  lady!" 
"Yes,  sir.     I  fancy  so,  Master  John." 
"I  see!     One  of  those  gay  Lotharios    must   have 
dropped  it  in  the  scrimmage.     It  is  valueless  except 
as  a  clue. " 

"Perhaps  Miss  Lothario  might  have — 
"Never    mind,    Thomas.       Now    for    the    witch- 
hazel." 

The  old  man  went  toward  the  door,  walking 
slowly.  In  the  hall  he  stopped,  looked  back  at  the 
studio,  shook  his  white  head,  sighed  profoundly  and 
went  on  his  errand.  As  for  Wentworth,  he  empha 
sized  the  worthlessness  of  the  handkerchief  by  in 
haling  its  delicate  perfume,  folding  it  thoughtfully 
and  putting  it  carefully  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
coat.  That  done  he  turned  attention  to  the  neg 
lected  note. 

It  was  from  Harper,  and  had  evidently  been  sent 
by  messenger.  It  read : 


108  THE   RED   PAPER 

Dear  Jack: 

Got  home  to  discover  things  in  a  devil  of  a 
pother  owing  to  I  he  governor  being  down  with  a  sudden 
and  severe  a/lack  of  gout.  You  know  the  old  gentleman, 
lie  is  as  irascible  as  the  deuce  and  won't  let  me  out  oj 
//is  sight.  Will  try  to  sec  you  to-morrow,  but  may  not 
make  it  until  next  day.  Hope  you  have  a  good  photo, 
and  made  original  safe. 

TOM. 

Wentworth  smiled  grimly,  and  gently  touched  the 
protuberance  on  his  head.  "I  fancy  it's  safe  enough 
from  me!"  he  muttered.  "And  the  chances  are  that 
I  will  have  to  work  without  you.  o:d  man!" 

He  was  impatient  to  start  out  on  his  campaign  of 
revenge,  but  he  felt  his  present  inability  and  useless- 
ness.  When  Thomas  returned  he  allowed  the  old 
man  to  bathe  and  bandage  his  head,  refusing  in  set 
terms  to  have  a  doctor;  then  he  ate  sparingly,  dis 
missed  the  butler,  and  wrent  to  bed  early.  His  mind 
was  fully  made  up  as  to  what  he  would  do  the  follow 
ing  day,  but  in  the  morning  he  found  himself  with  but 
little  energy,  though  the  swelling  on  the  side  of  his 
head  had  gone  down  and  was  less  sensitive.  The 
hours  were  lost  in  hoping  and  waiting  for  Harper,  but, 
as  that  individual  was  not  forthcoming,  Wentworth 
determined  to  act  alone. 

By  noon  he  felt  better  and  went  out  to  lunch,  after 
which  he  started  down-town.  Knowing  the  power 
of  money,  and  its  probable  necessity  in  carrying  out 


THE  PLAN  109 

his  purpose,  he  called  at  his  bank  and  drew  three 
hundred  dollars,  mostly  in  small  bills,  then  hailing 
a  taxicab  he  gave  orders  to  be  taken  to  Police  Head 
quarters.  He  had  determined  to  run  no  further 
risks,  and  his  next  act  should  be  backed  by  the  arm 
of  the  law.  He  had  been  assaulted.  Perhaps  the 
arrest  of  Bagshot  might  bring  that  individual  to 
terms;  at  all  events,  it  would  soothe  his  own  hurt 
pride  and  make  some  amends  for  the  lump  that  came 
just  within  the  leather  of  his  hat. 

In  front  of  the  stone  palace  on  Center  Street  he 
dismissed  the  taxi',  and  entered  the  building. 


CHAPTER  IX 
ANOTHER  LETTER 

WENTWORTH'S  first  step  was  a  technical 
blunder,  though  in  the  end  it  proved  a 
fortunate  one.  Instead  of  asking  for  the 
chief  of  police,  he  requested  an  interview  with  the  head 
of  the  detective  department,  and  after  being  passed 
from  hand  to  hand,  was  finally  ushered  into  the  office 
of  that  functionary,  only  to  find  he  was  out  of  town. 
Wentworth  was  about  to  inquire  of  the  clerk  as  to 
who  represented  the  chief,  when  the  door  of  the  room 
opened  and  a  young  man  softly  entered.  For  a  mo 
ment  the  two  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  the 
stranger  spoke. 

"This  is  Mr.  Wentworth?" 

"Yes,"  said  John.  "I  have  seen  you  before, 
somewhere,  but  unfortunately  I  cannot  place  the 
occasion." 

"And  small  wonder,"  returned  the  other.  "I 
saw  you  but  for  an  instant  on  the  night  of — of  your 
father's  death.  You  may  remember  that  I  had 
something  to  say  to  you,  but  you  were  in  no  shape 
to  listen  and  the  inspector  choked  me  off.  You  went 
upstairs. " 

110 


ANOTHER   LETTER  111 

"Ah,  yes.     I  have  in  indistinct  recollection  of  it." 

"Are  you  here,  may  I  ask,  on  that  business?" 

There  was  something  in  the  frank  and  respectful 
manner  of  the  young  fellow  that  caused  Wentworth 
to  warm  toward  him;  moreover,  it  was  a  relief  to 
find  one  in  that  place  who  was  not  an  utter  stranger. 
He  remembered  that  the  man  had  said  he  was  a 
detective,  but  there  was  little  of  the  air  of  a  thief- 
catcher  in  his  open  countenance,  his  clear  blue  eye, 
and  his  fresh-colored  and  almost  boyish  cheek. 

''The  matter  may  be  distantly  related  to  my 
father's  death,"  was  the  reply.  "I  need  help,  and 
came  here  to  get  it." 

"By  Heaven,  sir,"  said  the  other  with  enthusiasm, 
''we  are  both  lucky.  I  was  about  to  look  you  up, 
Mr.  Wentworth.  1  expected  to  see  you  the  day 
after  that  affair,  but  on  my  coming  back  here  I  was 
at  once  sent  out  of  town  on  a  case.  I  returned  this 
morning.  Would  you  mind  coming  to  my  quarters 
for  a  fe\v  minutes?  Perhaps  I  can  help  you  out  in 
the  way  you  wish;  anyway,  I  have  something  im 
portant  to  say  to  you." 

"Something  important?" 

"Yes,  sir.  If  you  will  step  into  my  room  I  will 
explain." 

Soon  after  the  two  were  seated  in  a  little  office  in 
which  there  was  no  furniture  save  a  desk  and  two 
chairs.  The  walls  were  bare,  and  there  was  noth 
ing  in  the  surroundings  either  to  stimulate  imagina 
tion  or  interfere  with  thought.  The  detective 


112  THE   RED   PAPER 

closed  the  door,  kicked  a  black  bag  out  of  his  way, 
and  seating  himself  at  the  desk,  opened  a  drawer, 
took  out  a  box  of  cigars  and  offered  it  to  his  visitor. 

"My  name  is  Bunson,  Mr.  Wentworth,"  he  said, 
throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair  after  the  two  had 
lighted  up.  "You  never  heard  of  me,  of  course, 
because  I  have  done  nothing  to  make  my  name 
thunder,  and  haven't  yet  got  on  the  advertising  side 
of  the  reporters." 

He  smiled,  showing  a  fine  set  of  teeth. 

"  Let  us  get  right  down  to  business.  I  will  first 
tell  you  what  I  have  to  say,  then  listen  to  you.  The 
night  I  went  to  your  house  I  heard  that  you  had 
stated  your  belief  that  Captain  Wentworth  had  been 
murdered,  but  by  the  others  who  had  arrived  before 
me  your  idea  was  ridiculed;  no  convincing  evidence 
of  violence  had  been  discovered,  But  I  never  take 
the  opinions  of  others  as  a  guide  to  my  own  con 
clusions,  and,  as  a  member  of  a  force  of  the  methods 
of  which  few  know  much,  and  the  public  knows  abso 
lutely  nothing,  I  generally  keep  my  conclusions  to 
myself  until  they  can  be  verified." 

He  looked  fixedly  at  Wentworth;  the  young  man 
made  no  reply  beyond  a  nod  of  understanding. 
"Now,  sir,"  continued  the  detective,  impressively, 
"on  the  night  I  visited  your  house  I  made  an  important 
discovery,  and  one  that  inclines  me  to  believe  you 
were  right  in  thinking  your  father  was  murdered." 

He  paused  to  let  the  statement  have  its  full  effect; 
and  that  it  did  have  was  apparent  in  the  set,  white 


ANOTHER   LETTER  113 

face  of  the  visitor.  What  was  coming?  For  a  moment 
Wentworth  stared  at  the  detective,  then  his  lips 
formed  rather  than  spoke  the  question: 

"By  whom?" 

"By  a  man  named  Bagshot.  Perhaps  you  know— 
What's  the  matter,  sir?" 

Wentworth  had  risen  to  his  feet  like  one  con 
fronted  by  a  ghost. 

"Bagshot!  Bagshot!"  he  ejaculated.  "It  was 
about  him  that  I  came  here!  What  do  you  know?" 

"Nothing  that  is  absolutely  certain,"  said  Bunsen, 
as  Wentworth  resumed  his  seat,  "but  I  have  sus 
picion;, — well-founded  suspicions.  I  have  kept  them 
to  myself,  so  far.  We  of  the  New  York  police  force 
are  human,  sir — jealous,  if  you  please.  I  have  no 
intention  of  sharing  any  possible  glory  I  may  get  from 
my  profession.  The  evidence  I  found  I  have  kept 
secret  until  I  could  see  you." 

•'And  what  have  you  found?"  demanded  Went 
worth,  gaining  strength  of  voice  as  his  heart  steadied. 

"This,  sir,"  returned  the  other,  opening  the  wallet 
he  took  from  his  pocket  and  extracting  a  paper. 
"I  happened  to  be  the  only  one  who  had  the  wit  or 
wisdom  to  look  under  the  blotting-pad  on  your 
father's  desk.  1  was  alone  when  I  found  it.  Of 
course  I  was  searching  without  definite  hope  of  getting 
evidence  to  carry  out  your  theory,  but  I  think  the 
evidence  is  here.  You  will  >:oe  that  this  paper  is 
dated  the  day  of  your  father's  death,  and  by  com 
parisons  I  kno'.v  it  was  written  by  Captain  Went- 


114  THE   RED   PAPER 

worth.  You  will  sec  that  it  is  unfinished — as  if  he 
had  been  interrupted  while  writing  it — that  he  had 
hidden  it  temporarily  under  the  pad,  and  intended  to 
complete  it." 

Bunsen  opened  the  paper  and  laid  it  on  Went- 
worth's  knee.  The  young  man  was  fairly  trembling 
in  his  eagerness.  Surely  it  was  his  father's  writing; 
he  knew  it  at  once.  It  read: 

Mr.  Simeon  Bags  hot, 

West  84th  St.,  City. 
Sir: 

You  asked  me  for  a  definite  answer  to  your  demand 
of  two  days  ago,  but  I  have  waited  until  now  to  reply 
to  you  because  I  have  had  a  struggle  with  myself.  And, 
sir,  I  have  won.  Shall  7,  on  the  threshold  of  the  grave, 
succumb  to  the  demands  of  such  a  monster  as  you? 
to  such  a  poltroon!  Never.  You  have  taken  most 
of  my  fortune;  is  not  that  enough?  In  addition  to  the 
loss  of  my  reputation  you  speak  of  violence,  if  I  do  not 
meet  your  wishes.  In  plain  terms,  you  threaten  to 
murder  me.  I  laugh  at  the  tJircat,  though  morally  I 
believe  you  equal  to  the  attempt. 

Before  you  receive  this  I  shall  have  passed  the  paper 
into  the  care  of  my  son.  and  will  have  given  him  a  full 
explanation,  as  I  should  have  done  years  ago.  In 
future  you  may  deal  with  him — if  you  dare — for  the  — 

Here  the  letter  ended  abruptly,  and  it  had  evidently 
been  hurriedly  placed  under  the  pad  without  being 
blotted,  for  the  last  line  was  blurred. 


ANOTHER   LETTER  115 

"The  bottom  of  the  pad  has  ink  on  it,"  said  the 
detective  quietly  as  John  finished  reading.  "A 
small  matter,  but  something." 

Wentworth's  hands  were  trembling.  ''My 
Heavens!"  he  ejaculated  under  his  breath;  ''and  I 
have  had  my  hands  on  Bagshot  twice  since  this  was 
written." 

"You?  On  Bagshot!  How?" 

"I  will  tell  you;  but  first  let  me  get  control  of 
myself,"  said  the  young  man,  rising  and  striding  up 
and  down  the  confined  limits  of  the  room.  In  a  few 
moments  he  reseated  himself  and  point  by  point  told 
the  story  as  he  had  told  it  to  Harper,  but  now  adding 
the  adventure  of  the  day  before.  Bunscn  listened 
attentively,  his  eyes  lighting  with  intelligence,  but 
otherwise  his  face  was  sphinx-like.  When  John 
had  finished  the  detective  rose  to  his  feet. 

"We  have  hardly  enough  in  this  to  make  it  plain 
that  Bagshot  saw  your  father  at  all  that  night,  though 
the  letter  speaks  of  threats  against  the  colonel's 
life.  But  with  your  story  and  this  letter  we  have 
enough  to  at  least  cause  the  man's  arrest  on  suspicion. 

"You  want  him  for  assault  and  robbery,  if  for 
nothing  else.  He's  got  what  he  was  after,  and  you 
can  bet  he'll  act  quickly  now.  We  have  no  time  to 
lose.  What  do  you  know  about  Planet?  Had  you 
seen  him  before  yesterday?" 

"No,"  said  Wentworth,  but,  as  he  uttered  the 
word,  a  light  burst  upon  him.  "Yes — yes!"  he 
exclaimed.  "I  have  it — I  did  see  him — I  remember. 


116  THE   RED   PAPER 

It  was  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  by  Heaven!  He 
was  in  front  of  my  father's  house!  He  asked  me  the 
hour!  I  could  swear  to  him!" 

"Wait  here  a  moment  until  I  can  report  my 
absence!"  cried  Bunsen,  jumping  to  the  door.  "I 
will  go  with  you  at  once.  We'll  nab  our  man  within 
an  hour!" 

He  rushed  from  the  room,  but  was  back  before 
Wentworth  could  gather  his  flying  thoughts  together. 
Opening  the  bag  under  his  desk,  the  detective  took 
from  it  a  revolver  and  a  pair  of  handcuffs,  which 
he  stuffed  into  his  pockets. 

"Come  along/"  he  said,  now  all  animation  and 
activity. 

And  the  two  hurried  out. 

As  they  reached  the  street  the  sound  of  a  fast- 
striking  gong  caught  the  attention  of  both,  and  the 
next  moment  a  fire-engine  tore  by,  going  up  Center 
Street.  In  the  trail  of  its  smoke  a  hook-and-ladder 
truck  went  after  it  at  full  speed.  "Fire  up- town 
somewhere,"  said  Bunsen,  "and  I  think  we  are 
going  to  start  something  of  a  blaze,  ourselves." 
He  laughed. 

"What  is  your  plan  of  action?"  asked  Wentworth, 
as  they  strode  toward  the  subway  station  at  Worth 
Street. 

"It  is  simple  enough,"  said  the  detective,  sobering. 
"But  I  will  admit  I  am  taking  long  chances  in  tht 
matter.  I  would  feel  better  armed  if  I  had  a  warrant, 
but  to  get  a  warrant  would  take  time,  and  I  figure 


ANOTHER   LETTER  117 

we  haven't  a  moment  to  lose.  This  is  a  mighty 
unique  case,  sir,  and  if  I  can  pull  it  off  it  will  be  a 
big  feather  in  my  cap.  As  for  my  plan — it  is  to 
catch  the  men  any  way  I  can,  and  lock  them  up. 
If  one  squeals  on  the  other,  so  much  the  better.  You 
want  the  paper;  I  want  Bagshot;  and  if  I  get  him 
I'll  make  some  of  those  wiseacres  that  had  the  case 
in  hand  feel  like  a  plugged  nickel.  Here  we  are,  sir." 
The  two  descended  into  the  subway.  A  few  people 
stood  aimlessly  on  the  long  platform,  but  no  roar 
of  an  approaching  train  echoed  through  the  tube 
and  the  great  tunnel  was  unnaturally  quiet.  Over 
the  ticket-agent's  window  was  a  hurriedly  written 
sign: 

"Trains  not  running.     No  tickets  sold  until 
further  orders." 

"What's  this  about?"  said  Bunsen,  bending  his 
head  to  the  hand-hole  in  the  glass. 

"Fire  in  Parker  Building  up- town.  Danger  to 
subway  from  falling  walls,  I  suppose.  No  tickets 
sold.  That's  all  I  know  about  it.  You  may  have 
to  wait  five  minutes — or  five  hours — I  don't  know." 

"Block  number  one!"  said  Bunsen,  turning  to 
Wentworth.  "It's  always  so;  but  a  bad  beginning, 
you  know.  We'll  have  to  go  over  to  the  elevated." 

There  was  little  else  to  do,  and  they  made  the  trip 
almost  in  silence.  In  half  an  hour  they  were  out 
of  the  train,  and  noticed  that  from  Eighty-first  Street 
to  some  distance  above,  the  down  track  was  blocked 


118  THE   RED   PAPER 

by  a  line  of  standing  cars.  But  this  was  not  occa 
sioned  by  fire;  the  up- town  trains  still  passed,  and  the 
line  ran  nowhere  near  the  burning  Parker  Building. 

Without  stopping  to  inquire  the  trouble,  the  two 
went  on,  and  in  ten  minutes  more  were  in  front  of 
the  apartment-house.  Wentworth  was  about  to  go 
into  the  vestibule  and  ring  the  bell  when  Bunsen 
held  him  back. 

''Don't  get  excited,  sir.  I  know  a  trick  worth 
ten  of  that.  A  ring  might  be  a  warning  to  a  fellow 
in  Bagshot's  fix.  Come  with  me." 

He  went  down  to  the  tradesman's  door  in  the 
basement,  Wentworth  following,  and  together  the 
two  men  went  upstairs.  But  there  had  been  no 
occasion  for  their  caution,  for  the  door  of  the  Merridale 
flat  was  open  and  a  man  was  sweeping  out  the  private 
hall.  As  Wentworth  glanced  in  and  marked  the 
litter  lying  about,  his  heart  sank;  he  felt  that  it  was 
too  late;  that  the  birds  had  flown.  He  walked  up 
to  the  sweeper. 

"Arc  you  the  janitor?"   he  asked. 

"I  am  th'jt."  was  the  answer  given  in  a  surly  tone, 
and  with  barely  a  glance  at  the  questioner.  Went 
worth  was  too  full  of  his  errand  to  take  warning 
from  the  man's  attitude.  "  Where  are  the  tenants 
who  were  here — the  Merridales?"  he  asked. 

"  "Fis  no  business  o1  mine  where  they  be,"  was 
the  short  return  to  the  abrupt  and  tactless  question. 

"Have  they  gone?" 

"They  hov,  me  fine  felly." 


ANOTHER    LETTER  119 

"Where?    Do  you  know?" 

''An'  if  I  did,  the  likes  o'  me  would  not  be  tellin' 
it  to  ye;  mind  that." 

The  reply  was  decidedly  aggressive,  and  the  two 
eyed  each  other  belligerently.  Bunsen  touched 
John  on  the  shoulder  and  laughed  lightly. 

"I  think,  sir,"  he  said,  "you  had  better  have  left 
this  to  me.  The  old  adage — molasses  and  vinegar, 
you  know,  sir.  This  is  a  matter  for  haste  —and  soap, 
sir.  We'll  have  to  grease  his  wheels,  I  take  it.  Are 
you  fixed?" 

Wentworth  recognized  his  mistake,  but  set  about 
to  rectify  it.  Taking  out  his  wallet  he  extracted  a 
bill. 

"See  here,  my  friend,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a 
modified  tone,  "we  wish  to  know  where  Mr.  Merridale 
is.  Come,  now,  when  did  he  go?" 

And   he  passed   the  bill  into   the  janitor's  hand. 

"Well,  sor,  if  that's  the  way  of  it,  he  went  this 
mornin'." 

"But  he  has  left  all  his  furniture  behind!"  said 
John,  looking  around  the  parlor  and  noticing  that  its 
general  appearance  was  unchanged;  even  the  chair 
he  had  smashed  lay  in  a  corner,  but  the  trunks  were 
gone. 

"Faith,  the  fixin's  didn't  belong  to  him!  He  sub 
let  the  place.  Mr.  Duke  was  as  foine  a  gentleman— 

"We  don't  care  for  him,"  interrupted  Bimsen  in 
a  gentle  voice.  "Do  you  know  where  the  Merridale.; 
went?" 


120  THE   RED   PAPER 

"No,  sir,  on  me  anner,  I  don't.  They  went  off 
afoot  this  marnin',  say  ten  o'clock." 

'•'And  the  trunks?" 

"Pat  Cody's  express  kem  after  thim  arly— say 
eight  o'clock." 

"Thank  you.     How  many  went— of  the  people?" 

"The  two,  sir;   the  young  leddy  an'  her  dad." 

"No  one  else?" 

"Why,  a  furrin-lookin'  chap  was  here  for  a  little, 
but  I  saw  him  go  out  arly — whin  I  was  sweepin'  the 
walk." 

"Good!    Joe  Planet!"    said  Bunsen. 

"Like  as  not.  I  heard  him  called  Joe,"  said  the 
janitor. 

"And  you  don't  know  where  the  trunks 
went?" 

"  So  help  me,  I  do  not.     How  cud  I?" 

"I  believe  you.     Where  is  Cody's  stand?" 

"Round  the  corner — -furninst  a  bookstore.  Ye 
can't  help  seem'  it.  May  I  ask  ye  what  ye  want  of 
the  Merridale  feller?'" 

"Well,  that's  rather  too  much  to  the  point,"  said 
the  detective.  "And  you  can  tell  us  no  more  of 
him,  I  suppose?" 

"I  can,  then,"  said  the  janitor.  "He  managed 
to  smash  a  windy  in  the  basement  with  somethin' 
tied  to  a  long  cord  —Heaven  knows  why — -an'  he 
stove  in  thi.->  dure,  though  he  denied  it  like  the  thafe 
he  is.  He  was  a  deep  wan,  sir;  a  felley  I  niver 
liked;  but  the  leddy— she  was  different."  The 


ANOTHER   LETTER  121 

nan  pointed  to  the  splintered  panel.  Wentworth 
:  railed  but  said  nothing. 

"Very  good — very  good,"  said  the  detective 
smoothly.  "I  think  that's  all.  Come,  Mr.  Went 
worth,  we  have  one  more  chance  to  save  our  jelly. 
We'll  try  Cody." 

The  big  janitor  watched  them  hurry  down  the 
stairs. 

"An'  much  good  he'll  get  o'  Cody!"  he  muttered, 
resuming  his  broom  and  his  work. 

"Block  zwei!"  muttered  Bunsen,  as  he  reached 
the  front  door. 


CHAPTER  X 
A  MATTER  OF  HASTE 

IS  the  two  men  emerged  into  the  st'vef  heated 
by  the  afternoon  sun,  neither  spoke.  The 
detective's  mouth  was  set  with  a  determina 
tion  which  might  have  been  mixed  with  an  expression 
of  disappointment,  but  Wentworth  was  beset  by 
r-omethmg  like  a  sense  of  shame. 

For  in  spite  of  himself  a  great  wave  of  suspicion 
had  taken  possession  of  him.  Was  it  possible  that 
Grace  Merridale  had  been  false  to  her  promise — 
had  gone  and  left  no  word,  when  he  had  told  her  he 
expected  to  see  her  that  day?  Or — his  cheeks  grew 
hot  at  the  thought — had  he  been  only  a  confiding 
fool?  Had  the  girl  been  merely  a  stool-pigeon  de 
liberately  paving  the  way  for  Bagshot?  Had  that 
individual  known  of  her  presence  in  the  studio — 
in  fact,  sent  her  there?  Perhaps  the  girl  was  not 
Grace  Merridale!  Great  Ocsar!  What  an  ass  he 
had  been  to  have  allowed  himself  to  be  so  easily 
hoodwinked  by  a  pretty  woman  with  the  airs  and 
graces  of  an  angel — one  who  had  aroused  his  interest 

122 


A   MATTER   OF   HASTE  123 

as  no  other  woman  had  yet  done.  And  with  no  more 
recommendation  than  that  carried  in  her  face  he 
had  taken  her  into  his  full  confidence,  and  proclaimed 
his  idiotic  weakness  by  kissing  her  hand!  More — 
he  had  shown  her  the  paper,  the  very  thing  she 
wished,  the  very  thing  for  which  she  had  worked 
him;  and  then  to  appear  innocent  she  had  played 
at  terror  that  she  might  save  her  patron — or  wo, 
from  being  at  once  pursued. 

"Hell!"  muttered  the  young  man,  as  he  walked 
rapidly  by  the  side  of  the  silent  Bunsen,  perspira 
tion  suddenly  streaming  from  every  pore.  "In  the 
name  of  all  the  saints!  how  can  I  expose  my  utter 
idiocy  to  Harper?  I  ought  to  have  a  nurse!" 

Then  another  thought  struck  him.  If  she  were  a 
fraud  why  all  that  strenuous  business?  I  offered 
her  the  paper  before  those  villains  came  in.  Why 
didn't  she  take  it? 

The  puzzle  smote  him,  bringing  a  sense  of  relief, 
and  so  affected  him  that  he  stopped  on  the  sidewalk. 
"What's  the  trouble?"  asked  Bunsen.  "Got  an 
idea?" 

"Yes — but  it's  not  a  practical  one,"  returned 
Wentworth  from  whom  nothing  could  have  dragged 
his  present  thoughts. 

"Then  you  stop  for  nothing/'  was  the  ungracious 
reply. 

Mr.  Patrick  Cody,  expressman,  sat  on  an  up 
turned  trunk,  smoking  a  black  cigar  and  rubbing 


124  THE   RED   PAPER 

his  stubby  red  beard  with  a  thick,  red  hand  when 
Bunsen  and  Wentworth  halted  in  front  of  his  stand. 

"Cody's  Express?"  asked  the  detective  with  an 
insinuating  smile. 

"Yis,"  was  the  short  answer. 

"You  are  Cody?" 

"Yis." 

"I  believe  you  moved  three  trunks  from  the  third 
flat  of  number — ,  round  the  corner,  this  morning." 

"Well,  what  av  it?" 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  we  would  like  to  know  where 
you  took  them." 

The  detective's  voice  was  fairly  purring  with  good 
will,  but  Cody  glowered  at  him. 

"Ye  wud!  Well,  if  that's  yer  only  business,  ye 
can  run  along  after  I'm  telling  ye  I  tuk  thim  to  me 
express  wagon."  The  tone  was  uncompromising, 
and  it  was  evident  that  Cody's  temper  was  set  on  a 
hair-trigger.  Bunsen  tuined  easily  to  Wentworth, 
speaking  in  a  low  tone: 

"Looks  like  block  number  three!  More  soap,  sir." 
John  took  out  his  wallet,  but  before  he  could  extract 
a  bill  the  little  Irishman  bristled. 

"None  o'  that  with  me,  now!  I  know  youse  fellys! 
Ye  think  because  ye  hov— 

"Look  here!"  exclaimed  Bunsen,  wheeling  on  the 
sour  man.  "WTho  do  you  take  us  for?" 

"Do  ye  want  me  to  move  a  trunk,  or  anny  stuff?" 

"No,  we  do  not." 


A   MATTER   OF   HASTE  125 

"Then,  I  take  ye  for  a  couple  o'  loafers — an' 
that's  all  ye  get  from  me." 

"And  you  refuse  to  answer  a  civil  question?" 

"I  do  that.     G'wan — ye  bother  me." 

"Put  up  your  pocketbook,  Mr.  Wentworth,"  said 
the  detective  briskly,  an  ugly  look  coming  into  his 
boyish  face.  "I'll  attend  to  this  chap." 

He  threw  open  his  vest  and,  walking  up  to  the 
Irishman,  who  now  wore  a  decidedly  defiant  aspect, 
laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  with  the  other 
tapped  the  silver  shield  which  was  pinned  to  his 
suspender. 

"You  come  with  me,  my  fine  lad!  By  the  time 
you've  cooled  your  heels  at  headquarters  for  a  few 
hours  you  may  take  it  into  your  head  to  answer 
me." 

"Who  are  ye?"  demanded  Cody,  sliding  from  the 
trunk,  but  not  from  the  grasp  that  held  him,  his  jaw 
falling. 

"Detective  from  central  office,  my  garrulous 
friend,"  returned  Bunsen,  taking  the  handcuffs  from 
his  pocket.  "You  are  helping  the  flight  of  a  crim 
inal,  which  in  itself  is  a  criminal  offense.  See?  I 
fancy  we  can  pry  open  your  mouth. " 

'Fore  Heaven,  sir!"  said  Cody,  the  ruddiness 
fading  from  his  face.  "I  know  nothing  about  it, 
sir!  I  only  tuk  the  trunks!" 

"You  lie!"  said  Bunsen  sharply.  "You  were  paid 
for  keeping  your  head  shut.  How  much?" 


126  THE   RED  PAPER 

Cody  seemed  to  shrink  to  half  his  normal  height 
and  his  face  took  on  a  look  of  panic. 

"I — T.  The  gintleman  gave  rne  five  dollars,  but 
he  didn't  tell  me—" 

"No  matter  what  he  didn't  tell  you!  Where  did 
you  take  the  trunks?" 

"To— to  the  Texas  Line  pier,  sir,  East  River. 
That's  the  truth." 

"I  think  likely!"  said  Bunsen,  flashing  a  glance  at 
John.  "When  does  the  steamer  sail?" 

"So  help  me,  I  don't  know,  sir.  This  day,  I  think. 
If  ye  let  go  your  holdt  I'll  see.  There's  an  X.  Y.  Z. 
Guide  inside." 

"Get  it,"  said  Bunsen  crisply,  letting  go  his  grip 
on  the  thoroughly  cowed  expressman.  When  the 
book  was  brought  he  ran  over  its  leaves  in  feverish 
haste  until  he  found  what  he  wished. 

"Texas  Line  to  Galveston!  Pier — ,  East  River. 
The  Lone  Star.  By  thunder,  Mr.  Wentworth,  she 
sails  this  afternoon  at  five  o'clock!  What  time  is 
it?" 

Wentworth  drew  out  his  watch  and  snapped  it 
open.  "Three  thirty-five." 

"Good  Lord!  An  hour  and  twenly-five  minutes, 
with  the  subway  likely  to  be  blocked,  and  the  elevated 
at  a  standstill!"  Both  men  glanced  upward  to 
where  the  line  of  trains  still  lay  motionless.  Down 
by  Eighty-first  Street  a  crowd  stood  on  the  corner, 
looking  upward. 


A   MATTER   OF   HASTE  127 

"A  car  jumped  the  switch  beyant   the  station," 
said  the  expressman,  in  a  desire  to  ingratiate  hit. 
with  the  detective. 

"What's  to  be  done"-1"  asked  Wentworth,  in  con 
sternation  at  the  combination  of  circumstances  which 
had  thwarted  them  from  the  start.  In  face  of  the 
presence  of  Bunsen  who  was  directing  matters  he 
did  not  look  to  his  own  resources. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry!  Block  number  four!"  ex 
claimed  the  detective.  "The  chances  are  that  the 
subway  is  not  running,  either;  and  if  it  were  the 
trains  would  crawl.  Is  there  a  livery-stable,  or— 
better — a  garage  hereabouts?"  he  asked,  turning 
quickly  to  the  Irishman. 

"I  don't  know  of  wan,  sir,"  said  the  man  respect 
fully.  "Ye  might  hov  me  wagon,  only  'tis  out." 

"By  the  powers,"  exclaimed  the  detective,  "this 
is  desperate!  Come  on,  Mr.  Wentworth.  There's 
one  chance  for  us! — and  only  one." 

"Why  not  'phone  to  the  pier  and  demand  Bagshot's 
arrest?"  suggested  Wentworth.  Bunsen  laughed. 

"On  what  authority?  Would  a  mere  telephone 
message  be  a  warrant  to  drag  a  passenger  from  a 
steamer— or  even  delay  the  vessel's  sailing  hour? 
No,  sir;  I  had  thought  of  that.  We  have  got  to  be 
on  the  spot  and  show  cause.  Damn  these  roads! 
Everything  seems  to  have  conspired  against  us!  But, 
as  I  have  said,  there  is  one  chance.  Come,  sir — we 
must  step  out. " 


128  THE    RED    PAPER 

They  walked  to  the  corner  of  Eighty-third  Street, 
Bunsen  looking  up  and  down  the  long  block.  Half 
way  to  Central  Park  a  taxicab  stood  in  front  of  a 
private  residence,  the  chauffeur  nodding  sleepily 
behind  the  steering-wheel. 

"Aha — just  the  thing!"  exclaimed  the  detective, 
catching  his  companion  by  the  arm  and  hurrying 
him  across  the  avenue.  Almost  on  a  run  they 
reached  the  taxicab.  Bunsen  pulled  open  the  door 
and  pushed  Wentworth  in.  "It's  all  right,  sir. 
I'll  attend  to  this.'' 

At  the  sound  of  voices  by  his  ear  the  somnolent 
chauffeur  woke  up.  "  Whatcher  y'  mean,  you  bloom- 
in'  loafer?"  he  shouted.  "Git  out  o'  that.  This 
here  cab's  engaged  1  Dontcher  see  th'  sign?"  He 
was  off  his  seat  and  on  the  walk  before  he  finished 
his  protest.  Bunsen  calmly  confronted  him. 

"Yes,  I  see  the  cab  is  engaged — and  I  am  the  one 
who  engaged  it.  If— 

"Don't  you  try  to  play  me  for  a  sucker,  you  rube. 
This  here  cab  is  engaged  by  a  lady  in  th'  house.  I 
know  what  I'm  talkin'  about!  Git  out  o'  there." 
The  last  to  Wentworth. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  sir,"  said  Bunsen;  then 
turning  to  the  irate  chauffeur  he  wagged  his  finger 
in  the  man's  face.  "I've  about  thirty  seconds  to 
waste  on.  you,  my  friend,"  he  said,  again  opening  his 
vest  and  tapping  his  official  badge.  "I'm  a  police 
detective  chasing  a  murderer.  We  want  this  car — 


A   MATTER  OF   HASTE  129 

as  no  railroads  are  running — and  we're  going  to  take 
it  in  the  name  of  the  law.  Choke  that  into  yourself. 
If  you  care  to  work  for  us  and  obey  directions,  well 
and  good;  if  not,  I'll  seize  and  run  her  myself — and 
it  wont  be  the  first  time  I've  swung  a  wheel.  Now, 
sir,  as  for  you.  I'll  hold  you  unharmed  in  the  matter, 
and,  moreover,  it  will  be  a  ten  dollar  bill  for  you, 
over  and  above  your  regular  fare.  Speak  quick. 
Will  you  take  the  wheel  or  shall  I?" 

"For  two  cents  I'd  smash  you!"  was  the  truculent 
reply,  but  without  trucu'ence  of  attitude. 

"That's  up  to  you,  son!  If  you  think  you  can 
down  the  police  force  of  this  ville  take  a  try  on  one 
of  them  right  now.  This  taxi'  goes — see?  I'll  give 
you  ten  seconds  to  decide  about  going  with  it." 

The  man  hesitated  and  looked  up  at  the  house. 
Bunsen  turned  and  slammed  the  door  of  the  vehicle, 
but  before  he  could  do  more  the  chauffeur  decided. 

"That  was  all  guff  about  the  smashin',  cull." 

"I  imagine  as  much." 

"You'll  make  it  all  right  at  the  station?" 

"I  told  you  so." 

"It'll  cost  me  my  job." 

"I'll  see  that  it  don't." 

"All  right.  I  fall  for  the  ten — an'  take  a  chance. 
Where  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"First,  to  the  court-house — then  to  pier — East 
River.  And  you  can  drive  like  it  was  a  joy-ride; 
I'll  back  you.  But  if  you  try  anything  funny  with 


130  THE   RED  PAPER 

me  you'll  fmd  yourself  in  the  cooler  for  your 
pains." 

"You  win!"  exclaimed  the  man.  "Jump  in." 
Bunsen  stepped  to  the  small  seat  by  the  driver.  In 
a  moment  they  were  oil. 

Wentworth  was  fairly  dazed  by  the  suddenness  of 
it  all,  and  he  had  a  new  and  mighty  respect  for  the 
detective.  The  easy-going  man  had  not  realized  the 
possibilities  for  a  strenuous  spirit  armed  with  the 
law — one  of  quick  wit  and  determined  character. 
But  as  the  taxi'  flew  along  he  regained  his  composure 
and  lighting  a  cigarette,  wondered  wrhy  the  swaying 
vehicle  was  not  stopped  by  some  outraged  policeman 
of  the  traffic  squad;  then  he  thought  of  the  detective's 
badge,  and  was  comforted. 

All  that  troubled  him  now  was  the,  to  him,  pre 
sumable  fact  that  he  had  been  fooled  by  a  girl — he, 
a  man  of  the  world.  He  was  losing  sight  of  one 
of  his  motives  in  acting.  At  this  time  he  was  not 
chasing  Bagshot  so  much  for  having  stolen  the  map 
of  the  lost  San  Saba  mine  as  for  being  the  probable 
murderer,  and  traducer,  of  his  father.  And  now  he 
had  hopes  of  catching  him. 

Going  over  to  Madison  Avenue  as  the  least  con 
gested  thoroughfare,  and  so  down  Fourth  Avenue, 
the  taxi'  stopped  for  an  instant  at  Cooper  Square,  and 
Bunsen  jumped  from  the  box  and  took  his  place  by 
Wentworth.  "What  time  now?"  he  asked  sharply, 
as  they  started  again. 


A   MATTER   OF   HASTE  131 

"Four  o'clock,"  was  the  answer. 

"Good!  We'll  get  him!  Shows  the  value  of  a 
strong  bluff,  sir,"  said  the  detective,  laughing  easily. 
''Had  Cody  called  me  I  would  have  had  to  lay  down 
my  cards.  I  had  no  warrant — no  shadow  of  a  right 
to  arrest  him  without  one,  but  I  thought  I  saw 
through  the  fellow.  This  taxi'  is  all  right.  I  am 
chasing  a  criminal — the  law  provides  for  such  cases, 
but  I  am  weak  from  lack  of  papers  and  dare  not 
tackle  my  man  without  them  now;  the  steamship 
company  must  and  would  protect  its  passengers." 

"I  see/'  said  Wentworth;  "But  even  if  this  had 
failed — even  if  we  had  not  learned  of  Bagshot's 
whereabouts  until  he  had  sailed,  we  could  still  have 
recourse  to  wireless  telegraphy.  Every  steamer  car 
ries  wireless,  I  believe." 

"Right  you  are,  regarding  the  machine,"  returned 
Bunsen,  whose  brows  were  knitted  as  he  looked 
straight  ahead,  "but  do  you  know,  sir,  that  as  the 
powers  that  rule  have  decided  that  your  father  did 
not  die  by  violence  I  doubi.  if  the}-  would  care  to 
reopen  your  case  and  prove  themselves  wrong, 
much  for  humanity — or  inhumanity!  And  wou\I 
it  do  any  good  if  they  did  reopen  the  case?  Supper 
we  ordered  the  arrest  of  Bagshot,  by  wireless,  and 
suppose  he  traveled  under  another  name.  Where 
would  we  be?" 

"Then  telegraph  to  Galveston,  giving  his  descrip 
tion,  and  have  him  arrested  on  arrival." 


132  THE   RED   PAPER 

Bunsen  smiled  grimly.  "Do  you  know  that  he 
is  going  to  Texas  by  sea — or  to  Texas  at  all?  Doesn't 
it  occur  to  you  that  the  trunks  may  be  a  blind? 
What  shall  prevent  him  from  doubling  on  his  tracks?" 

Wentworth  sat  back  aghast. 

"But,  sir,"  continued  the  detective,  "between 
you  and  me  and  the  post,  he  is  going  on  the  Lone 
Star.  Though  I  can't  bank  on  my  belief  I  am 
taking  chances.  Here's  my  plan,  sir.  I  jump  down 
at  the  court-house  and  get  a  warrant  of  arrest — I 
have  a  pull  in  there.  You  go  on  to  the  steamer, 
Give  the  chauffeur  ten  dollars — I  promised  that — 
you're  the  bank.  Then  see  the  purser  or  the  agent 
or  the  captain,  and  do  anything  to  hold  the  boat 
until  I  get  there.  I  leave  the  matter  to  you.  But 
first  you  had  better  be  sure  our  game  is  on  board. 
Catch  on?" 

"Perfectly." 

"And  keep  out  of  sight  yourself.  If  Bagshot  or 
Planet  caught  a  glimpse  of  you  our  half-baked  cake 
might  be  made  dough  in  a  pig's  whisper.  However, 
you  can  bet  I'll  be  there  if  there's  a  judge  on  the 
bench." 

The  clean-cut,  rapid  tire  of  the  detective's  speech, 
and  his  decision  of  character,  made  it  impossible  for 
Wentworth  to  criticise  the  ouuined  plan,  though 
he  did  not  like  his  own  commission.  He  was  unused 
to  this  kind  of  business;  he  had  been  dwelling  apart 
from  a  world  in  which  the  clash  of  man  with  his 


A  MATTER  ON  HASTE  133 

fellow  cut  such  a  largo  figure.  In  theory  he  accepted 
such  warfare  as  necessary,  but  had  never  dreamed 
he  would  be  dragged  into  it.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  born  anew.  The  ennui  which  oppressed  him 
before  and  since  his  father's  death  had  been  dissipated 
in  the  rush  of  late  events,  but  mingled  with  the  relief 
of  changed  conditions  was  a  feeling  of  keen  disap 
pointment  which  centered  around  the  personality 
of  the  girl  who  had  hoodwinked  him.  He  was 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself. 

Wcntworth  asked  the  detective  for  no  details;  he 
looked  upon  doing  so  as  a  sign  of  weakness  and  want 
of  confidence;  nor,  when  the  taxi' swung  from  Broad 
way  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  granite  monstrosity 
known  as  the  "court-house,"  did  he  have  any  plan 
of  action;  in  fact  he  doubted  the  ability  of  any  one, 
not  armed  with  the  law,  to  stop  the  sailing  of  the 
Lone  Star  if  the  officials  decided  it  was  to  proceed 
on  its  voyage.  But  he  did  not  voice  this  conclusion, 
to  Bunsen  as  that  individual  leaped  out. 

"We  have  all  the  time  we  need,  sir,"  said  the 
detective,  slamming  the  door  after  him.  "Look  for 
me  in  about  half  an  hour.  I  will  be  there  before  she 
sails."  He  ran  up  the  broad  stone  steps,  and  the 
vehicle  went  on. 

On  account  of  blocked  traffic  it  was  some  little 
time  before  the  pier  was  reached.  Wentworth  got. 
out  and  handed  the  chauffeur  twenty  dollars,  turn 
ing  away  without  seeing  the  salute  of  the  astonished 


134  THE   RED   PAPER 

driver.  A  few  moments  later  he  stood  in  the  pier 
office  of  the  passenger-agent. 

"May  I  see  your  list  of  passengers?"  he  asked  of 
a  hard-faced  man  who,  in  an  inky  linen  coat,  was 
writing  as  if  his  life  depended  on  his  haste,  lie 
stopped  long  enough  to  whirl  a  book  in  front  of  his 
visitor,  but  he  did  not  look  up.  Wcntworth  glanced 
down  the  short  column.  There  they  were. 

Mr.  Simeon  Bagshot;  Mr.  Jose.  Planet;  Miss  Grace 
Mcrridak;  all  of  New  York.  So  she  was  Grace 
Merridale. 

And  it  was  somewhat  evident  that  the  criminal 
felt  fairly  safe.  It  was  also  possible,  the  young  man 
thought,  that  Bagshot  had  too  small  a  respect  for 
the  man  he  had  outraged  and  robbed.  The  very 
display  of  the  names  was  like  an  insult  to  Went- 
worth;  he  had  presumably  not  been  thought  worthy 
of  consideration;  there  was  no  disguise  either  of 
person  or  destination.  The  young  man  bit  his  lip 
and  turned  to  the  writing  clerk. 

"Are  you  the  agent,  sir?" 

"'Yes.     What  do  you  want?" 

"Sir,"  said  John,  his  pulses  rising,  "you  have 
two  passengers  aboard  the  Lone  Star  who  are 
criminals  running  from  justice.  I  have  traced  them 
here.  With  this  knowledge  you  will  put  nothing 
in  the  way  of  their  arrest,  I  presume?  Is  there  an 
officer  on  the  pier?" 

The  hard-faced  man  dropped  his  pen  and  looked 


A  -MATTER   OF   HASTE  135 

up  quickly.  "Running  away!  Criminals!  What 
names?" 

"Bagshot  and  Planet." 

"What  do  you  come  to  me  for?  What  do  you 
want  an  officer  for?  Are  they  condemned  criminals?" 

"No,  sir;    not  yet." 

"Haven't  you  a  warrant?" 

"No,  I  have  not,  but—" 

"But  nothing!  What  in  the  devil  do  you  take 
me  for,  a  fool? — and  the  police,  too?  Who  are  you?" 

"A  private  citizen,  sir.     My  name— 

"I  don't  care  a  curse  for  your  name!  Don't  you 
see  I  am  up  to  my  neck,  and  with  no  time  to  waste 
on  ignorance?  The  steamer  sails  in  less  than  half 
an  hour,  and— 

"Can  you  not  hold  her  for  a  few  minutes  over 
if  the  warrant  docs  not  arrive  in  time?  I  am 
expecting — 

"Not  a  second,  sir,  not  a  second!  Mr.  What's- 
your-name,  if  you  find  your  parties  on  the  pier  you 
can  take  them  for  all  I  care,  but  on  our  boat,  sir, 
they  are  safe  unless  you  can  come  to  me  heeled  better 
than  you  are.  I  mean  no  disrespect — but  there's 
the  door  behind  you." 

And,  without  vouchsafing  another  word,  the 
agent  bent  over  his  papers. 

John  was  angry.  But  what  could  he  say  or  do? 
To  argue  would  be  a  loss  of  time;  moreover,  he  had 
no  argument. 


136  THE    RED    PAPER 

"I  wonder  what  numbered  block  Bunsen  would 
call  this!"  he  muttered,  as  with  a  heightened  color 
he  left  the  office.  In  the  shelter  of  a  pile  of  freight 
he  halted  and  considered.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  aboard  the  steamer  and  risk  being  seen 
by  those  whom  he  wished  to  avoid,  and  leaving  his 
cover,  he  approached  the  gangway  with  his  head 
down.  He  dared  not  look  up  and,  therefore,  did 
not  catch  the  cautionary  wave  of  a  handkerchief, 
nor  did  he  hear  the  light  call  of  his  name  from  the 
rail  of  the  deck  above  him;  the  growing  thunder  of 
the  escaping  steam  from  the  safety-valve  of  the 
waiting  vessel  prevented  that. 


CHAPTER  XI 
ON  THE  LONE  STAR 

THE  list  he  had  looked  at  showed  Wentworth 
that  there  were  not  more  than  a  round  dozen 
of  passengers  bound  South;  it  was  not  the 
time  of  year  to  attract  travel  to  Texas,  and,  therefore, 
there  was  no  confusion  on  and  round  the  gangplank 
as  he  walked  up  its  incline;  even  the  bustle  of  steve 
dores  was  lessening.  He  inquired  his  way  to  the 
purser's  office,  and  on  finding  it,  was  informed  that 
the  purser  was  on  the  pier  attending  to  business. 
After  a  glance  at  the  weak  face  of  the  young  assistant, 
Wentworth  concluded  that  he  would  be  incapable 
of  helping  him  and,  therefore,  determined  to  strike 
at  once  at  the  highest  authority:  the  captain.  He 
was  told  that  that  official  was  probably  on  deck, 
aft,  and  with  a  gradually  fading  hope  of  being  able 
to  do  much  with  the  vessel's  commander  at  such  a 
time,  he  went  down  the  long,  dim  passage  between 
decks,  toward  the  stern  of  the  steamer.  He  met 
no  one  until  he  emerged  into  the  saloon  and  was 
about  to  go  up  the  companionway,  when  he  heard 

137 


138  THE  RED  PAPER 

a  quick  exclamation  and  found  himself  confronting 
Grace  Merridale. 

Next  to  Bagshot  himself  the  girl  was  about  the 
last  person  Wentworth  cared  to  meet,  for  with  his 
present  notion  of  her  tmtrustworthmess,  and  the 
necessity  of  his  presence  remaining  unknown  to  her 
uncle,  he  felt  that  for  him  the  fat  was  in  the  fire. 
Bagshot  would  be  warned  of  his  coming,  and,  so 
enlightened,  would  know  what  wras  afoot.  The 
young  man  drew  himself  up  stiffly. 

The  girl's  face  was  drawn  and  haggard,  notwith 
standing  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes 
shining  from  excitement.  "Ch,  I  saw  you  coming 
up  the  pier!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes?"  There  was  an  uncompromising  terseness 
in  the  return." 

"I — I  am  so  glad!  But  we  cannot  stand  here," 
she  said,  apparently  not  remarking  the  man's  cold 
ness.  "Come  with  me,  please." 

She  turned  from  him,  whisking  herself  into  the 
short  passage  from  which  she  had  emerged,  and 
Wentwrorth,  with  no  definite  intention  of  any  kind, 
followed  her,  perhaps  only  for  the  reason  that  she 
had  asked  him.  At  the  further  end  of  the  passage 
she  opened  a  state-room  door,  and  with  a  finger  on 
her  lips  held  it  for  Wentworth  to  enter,  which  he  did. 
Closing  the  door  she  turned  and  faced  him.  "Thank 
Heaven!"  she  exclaimed,  breathing  as  if  after  a 
violent  exertion.  "Then  you  received  my  letter? 


ON   THE   LONE   STAR  139 

Why  did  you  come  this  way?  They  might  have  seen 
you!  Have  you — are  you  quite  recovered?" 

For  the  past  two  hours  the  young  man  had  so  com 
pletely  lost  faith  in  the  girl  he  had  tried  to  befriend, 
that  on  the  instant  of  the  unexpected  meeting  he 
had  only  the  feeling  that,  as  Bunsen  had  expressed 
it,  his  half-baked  cake  had  gone  suddenly  to  dough. 
But  as  he  now  saw  her  face  in  the  clear,  white  light 
coming  through  the  open  port-hole,  he  felt  that  pos 
sibly  his  disappointment  had  tinctured  his  judgment — 
that  possibly  he  had  leaped  to  a  conclusion  which 
might  prove  unwarranted.  Or  was  it  that  she  was 
still  playing  with  him?  guessing  his  errand,  and 
holding  him  from  its  completion?  Looking  into  her 
face  it  was  impossible  to  believe  it.  Wentworth 
was  human — and  young — but  he  did  not  purpose  to 
be  deceived  again,  if  deceived  he  had  been;  yet  he 
knew  that  now  the  policy  of  honesty  would  serve 
him  better  than  inventing  a  lie. 

"I  have  had  no  letter  from  you,"  he  answered. 

"Then  how  did  you  know— 

"I  traced  you  here — and  came  without  the  hope 
of  meeting  you.  I  am  waiting  for  an  officer  with  a 
warrant  for  your  uncle  and  Planet." 

"No  letter  from  me!  I  sent  one — by  special 
delivery — and  paid  the  janitor  to  mail  it.  Oh,  it 
is  too  late!  The  steamer  sails  in  a  few  minutes!  It 
was  not  until  last  night  that  I  knew  of  my  uncle's 
intentions.  I  did  not  demur;  I  appeared  to  be  glad. 


140  THE   RED   PAPEK 

And  he  suspects  nothing.  I  have  had  no  chance 
to  recover  the  paper  yet." 

There  was  no  doubting  her  honesty.  If  ever 
Truth  came  up  from  her  well  to  peer  through  a 
woman's  eyes  she  was  there  looking  at  the  man,  in 
the  person  of  Grace  Merridale.  Wentworth  felt  his 
doubts  slipping  away,  and  in  their  place  came  the 
old  longing  to  help  her,  though  then  his  power  to  do 
so  seemed  slight  enough. 

"Where  are  they — your  uncle  and  Planet?"  he 
asked,  looking  at  his  watch.  There  were  fifteen 
minutes  left;  perhaps  Bunsen  was  already  on  the 
pier. 

"On  deck — with  their  heads  together.  Planet  is 
ill — from  the  way  you  treated  him.  They  did  not 
see  you.  I — I  was  looking  for  you.  I  thought  you 
might—" 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I  don't  know.  Home,  presumably;  but  I  shall 
go  wherever  he  goes — until  I  have  that  which  is  mine. 
I  think  he  wishes  to  be  rid  of  me  now.  I  think  he 
would  desert  me  if  he  could — or  dared." 

"And  Planet?" 

"Desert  me?  Oh,  no!  He—  She  stopped  and 
a  vivid  blush  took  the  place  of  words.  Wentworth 
snapped  the  case  of  his  watch  with  unnecessary  vigor, 
and  his  voice,  which  had  softened,  again  became  cold. 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  that  your  uncle  doesn't  abuse 
you?" 


ON    THE    LOXE   STAR  141 

"No,  he  would  not  dare." 

"I  see.  Of  course  not.  Jose  Planet  would  pro 
tect  you." 

Pier  lips  parted  at  the  change  in  his  tone — a  change 
of  which  he  was  hardly  aware  himself — and  she 
looked  at  him  as  she  quietly  answered:  "Of  the  two 
I  would  prefer  my  uncle's  abuse  to  Planet's  protec 
tion,  Mr.  Wentworth.  I  am  in  an  extremely  awk 
ward  position  for  a  woman.  Think  what  I  have  to 
contend  with;  think  what  I  have  to  do,  and  do 
alone." 

"If  Bunsen  gets  here  in  time  you  will  be  relieved 
of  the  necessity.  I  have  been  unable  to  do  much 
alone,  myself.  I  was  about  to  go  to  the  captain 
when  I  met  you." 

"For  what?" 

"To  get  him  to  hold  the  vessel  in  case  the  warrant 
is  delayed." 

"It  would  be  useless,"  the  girl  answered.  "If 
the  captain  did  not  order  you  off  the  ship  he  would 
laugh  at  you.  He  and  my  uncle  are  friends  of  years' 
standing." 

"Ah!  then  our  hope  lies  in  Bunsen  getting  here 
in  time!  You  do  not  consider  yourself  in  any 
danger?" 

"No — unless  they  learn  of  my  knowledge  of  what 
they  have  done.  I  don't  dare  to  think  of  what 
might  happen  in  that  event.  Uagshot  is  a  desperate 
man  -you  know  that.  I  think  he  might  kill  me- 


142  THE   RED   PAPER 

kill  us  both— if  he  knew  you  were  with  me  here.  He 
would  guess  what  it  was  for." 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  face.  Wentworth  cursed 
himself  for  having  doubted  her,  at  the  same  time 
seeing  how  his  presence  in  her  state-room  might 
compromise  her.  "Forgive  me  for  jeopardizing  your 
safety/' he  said.  " I  did  not  think.  And— 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a  bell  being 
rung  in  the  passage,  and  a  man  shouted  as  he 
passed:  "All  ashore  that's  going  ashore." 

Wentworth  turned  to  the  door,  leaving  unfinished 
what  he  was  about  to  say.  "You  will  let  me  hear  from 
you?"  he  asked. 

"At  the  first  chance.     Probably  from  Galveston." 

"Then  Heaven  send  you  luck,  Miss  Merridale. 
I  cannot  forgive  myself  that  it  is  through  my  stupidity 
you  are  in  this  coil  of  circumstance.  My  interest 
in  the  matter  is  as  great  as  yours.  Good-bye." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  The  girl  took  it,  and  as  the 
young  man  looked  into  her  eyes  he  saw  both  dread 
and  appeal  in  them,  but  the  smile  she  gave  him  was 
a  brave  one. 

"I  will  do  my  best  to  win,"  she  said  briefly,  and 
turned  away. 

Wentworth  hurried  back  to  the  gangway  in  a 
frame  of  mind  that  would  have  made  it  unlucky  for 
either  Baghot  or  Planet  to  have  met  him  then. 
Had  he  felt  certain  of  non-interference  he  would 
have  hurried  to  the  upper  deck,  tackled  the  greater 


ON   THE   LONE   STAR'  143 

villain  of  the  two  and  dragged  him  ashore,  but  in 
an  instant  he  recognized  how  nonsensical  had  been 
the  idea.  Yet,  was  he  to  stand  by  and  see  the  man 
whom  he  believed  to  be  the  murderer  of  his  father  go 
scot-free?  It  looked  so,  and  his  spirit  rebelled  at 
the  hopelessness  of  the  situation. 

And  the  girl!  Fie  was  stirred  by  a  feeling  greater 
than  pity — a  feeling  new  to  him — as  he  remembered 
the  forlorn  face  that  had  seemed  to  appeal  to  him. 
And  he  had  left  her  tied  to  two  brutes.  Would  she 
be  brave?  Would  she  accomplish  her  end  alone,  or 
would  her  spirit  fail  her? 

Though  the  warning  to  those  going  ashore  had 
been  sounded  for  some  minutes  Wentworth  saw  the 
gang-plank  had  not  yet  been  removed;  therefore  he 
took  his  stand  on  the  lower  deck,  near  the  gangway. 
From  his  station  he  could  command  a  view  of  part 
of  the  pier  and  a  stretch  of  the  street  along  which  he 
knew  the  detective  would  come.  A  line  of  trucks 
crawled  over  the  hot  highway,  but  no  hurrying  taxi- 
cab  met  his  vision;  no  man  on  a  run.  Would  Bunsen 
never  come? 

His  mind  swung  from  his  business  to  the  girl  who, 
he  thought,  must  now  be  feeling  unutterably  lonely. 
With  his  open  watch  in  his  hand  he  waited,  his 
brain  busy,  but  his  mind  a  blank  to  his  immediate 
surroundings.  The  bustling  stevedores  had  now 
ceased  their  rush;  a  group  of  deck-hands  were  taking 
their  stand  at  the  falls  of  the  great  gangplank,  and 


144  THE   RED   PAPER 

the  rattle  of  empty  baggage-trucks  trundled  along 
the  hollow  pier  was  drowned  in  the  strident  roar  of 
the  escaping  steam. 

John  glanced  at  his  watch.  The  hour  for  sailing 
was  already  past,  and  he  was  suddenly  hoping  that 
the  delay  would  be  prolonged,  when  he  was  approached 
by  an  official  in  uniform. 

"Are  you  a  passenger,  sir?  If  not,  you  have  less 
than  a  minute  to  get  ashore." 

Wentworth  looked  up  and  realized  that  the  time 
had  come.  He  was  brought  suddenly  to  himself,  and 
something  within  him  protested  at  the  interruption 
to  his  thoughts.  He  closed  his  watch  and  was  about 
to  move  to  the  pier,  when  from  an  impulse  which 
had  no  backing  of  reason  or  intention,  and  which 
allowed  him  no  chance  for  consideration,  he  lounged 
to  the  bulwark,  threw  his  arm  along  the  broad  rail, 
and  assuming  an  attitude  of  careless  ease,  answered: 

"I  am  a  passenger,  sir." 

The  officer  turned  away.  "Haul  out  the  gang 
plank!"  he  shouted  above  the  thunder  of  escaping 
steam,  and  the  next  instant  the  heavy  bridge  swung 
clear  of  the  deck.  Not  until  then  did  Wentworth 
become  fully  conscious  of  what  he  had  done.  Even 
at  that  time  he  could  have  gained  the  pier-head  by 
a  vigorous  leap,  but  he  did  not  attempt  it.  It  was 
a  decidedly  undreamed-of  situation  for  the  young 
man.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  act  had  been  directed 
by  some  power  outside  of  himself;  indeed,  so  dazed 


ON   THE   LONE   STAR  145 

was  he  by  his  own  unexpected  determination,  a 
determination  having  no  recognized  relation  to  a 
previous  mental  state,  that  he  stood  where  the 
officer  left  him  until  the  steamer  had  drawn  well 
away  from  its  berth.  Even  when  he  had  fully 
realized  what  he  had  done,  how  unprepared  for  the 
situation  he  was,  and  how  probably  useless  to  him 
self  or  to  the  girl  would  be  his  quixotic  attitude,  he 
did  not  regret  his  act.  Neither  did  he  consider  of 
his  wisdom  or  foolishness.  It  did  not  take  a  deep 
analysis  to  discover  why  he  had  thrown  himself  into 
a  path  which,  he  knew  well  enough,  might  easily 
become  dangerous — would  certainly  become  so  the 
moment  he  showed  himself  to  the  man  to  whom  he 
was  a  threat  and  an  open  enemy. 

Wentworth  had  no  definite  plan,  but  he  knew  that 
to  make  his  purpose  aboard  anything  more  than  an 
absurd  farce  a  plan  must  be  laid.  The  primary 
object,  he  thought,  was  to  be  the  means  of  capturing 
his  father's  murderer;  the  secondary  object,  to  follow 
and  protect  the  lady,  who,  but  a  few  hours  before, 
he  had  mentally  cursed  as  a  false  siren.  However,  be 
his  design  what  it  might,  he  recognized  the  fact  that 
he  must  not  have  his  presence  known  to  Bagshot 
or  to  Planet  until  he  had  fixed  upon  some  mode  of 
procedure  against  them.  He  must  obtain  a  room 
and  conceal  himself,  and  with  a  last,  despairing  look 
at  the  now  deserted  pier,  and  up  the  street,  he  turned 
and  made  his  way  to  the  purser's  office.  A  moment 


146  THE   KED   PAPER 

or  two  later  he  came  to  the  hurried  conclusion  that 
he  had  been  guided  by  the  goddess  of  Good  Fortune. 

As  he  entered  the  small  room,  having  met  no  one 
on  his  way  there,  a  man  was  busy  at  the  desk,  but 
it  was  not  the  weak-faced  clerk;  he  was  absent.  As 
the  door  opened  and  closed  the  man  looked  up. 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  me?" 

"If  you  are  the  purser." 

"Yes,  sir,  and— Why,  hello,  Wentworth!  It  is 
Wentworth,  is  it  not?  I  didn't  know  you  were  with 
us!" 

Wentworth  looked  at  the  man  in  surprise,  then 
the  light  of  recognition  came  to  him.  "Van  Buskirk, 
by  all  that's  holy!"  he  exclaimed,  grasping  the  out 
stretched  hand.  "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Purser  here,"  said  the  other.  "Went  to  Texas 
two  years  ago,  you  know.  Knocked  around  hopeless 
for  a  spell,  then  through  a  pull,  fastened  on  to  this 
job.  Been  here  a  year.  I'm  glad  to  see  one  of  the 
old  class.  How  do  you  come  to  be  aboard?  Your 
name  is  not  on  my  list." 

"I  know  it;  that's  why  I  happened  in.  The  Lord 
has  delivered  me  into  your  hands!  It  is  a  streak 
of  luck!  Get  me  somewhere  where  I  won't  be  seen 
until  I  have  a  talk  with  you." 

The  purser  frowned.  "You  not  seen!  What's  the 
matter?  Male  or  female?" 

"'You  are  still  the  same  kind  of  an  ass  you  always 
were  in  college,  Van,"  said  Wentworth,  good  na- 


ON   THE   LONE   STAR  147 

turedly.  "The  matter  is  serious  but  not  yet  tragic. 
Do  as  I  ask  you.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  later." 

The  purser  looked  closely  at  his  old  classmate,  and 
saw  there  was  something  more  than  banter  in  the 
demand.  Without  further  words  he  opened  a  door. 
"Go  right  into  my  room/'  he  said.  "I'll  be  with 
you  when  I  can  get  a  breath  of  freedom  from  this 
business." 

Wentworth  entered  at  once.  The  purser  closed 
the  door  behind  him.  "Lord!"  he  ejaculated,  as  he 
sat  down  again.  "Wentworth  doing  a  dodge !  Went 
worth — of  all  men!" 

But  two  hours  later  he  had  heard  his  old  college- 
mate's  story,  or  as  much  of  it  as  the  young  man 
thought  advisable  to  give  him.  Of  the  murder  of 
his  father  he  made  no  mention,  confining  himself  to 
the  theft  of  the  paper,  though  he  did  not  tell  its 
character.  In  fact,  he  made  his  presence  appear 
to  be  the  result  of  a  chivalrous  impulse  inasmuch 
as  he  allowed  it  to  be  inferred  that  he  was  acting 
more  in  behalf  of  Grace  Merriclale  than  for  himself. 

"What  I  wish,"  he  said  finally,  "is  to  keep  con 
cealed  from  Bagshot  and  Planet;  not  that  I  fear 
them,  but  it  would  put  the  lady  in  a  bad  position, 
and  make  her  efforts  useless  if  they  knew  we  had 
anything  in  common.  I  wish  their  arrest. " 

"Naturally — but   how    will    you    accomplish    it?" 

"You  are  fixed  with  wireless?  It's  the  law,  I 
believe." 


148  THE   RED    PAPER 

"Yes." 

"Then  perhaps  messages  can  be  sent  from  here 
to  the  New  York  police,  and  an  order  returned 
authorizing  the  captain  to  hold  the  criminal.  You 
see — 

"My  dear  fellow,  it  is  you  who  don't  see,"  inter 
rupted  the  impressed  purser,  laying  a  hand  on  his 
friend's  knee.  "No  question  or  message  goes  to 
or  from  this  vessel  without  the  captain's  knowledge. 
And  Shearpole?  Not  on  your  life,  John!  You  say 
you  have  no  warrant;  then  you  are  crippled.  Cap 
tain  Shearpole  and  Bagshot  are  as  thick  as  thieves. 
They  were  at  sea  together  years  ago,  when  Bagshot 
did  the  act  I'm  doing,  aboard  this  Lone  Star.  He 
always  goes  and  comes  with  Shearpole.  No,  Jack, 
you  won't  catch  them  that  way;  the  captain  would 
be  more  likely  to  block  your  game  than  block  Bag- 
shot's.  Your  man,  Bunsen,  don't  know  you  are 
aboard?  don't  even  know  for  certain  that  Bagshot 
is?" 

"I  suppose  not — unless  he  gets  the  list.  He 
knows  nothing  of  my  being  here,  that's  certain." 

"Ah!  And  not  finding  you  he'll  be  likely  to  let 
the  matter  drop — as  you  will  appear  to  him  to  have 
done!  Let  me  think."  The  purser  rubbed  his 
chin  thoughtfully.  "I  don't  see  a  hole  out!"  he 
finally  said.  "If  you  telegraph  the  police  the  cap 
tain  must  know  of  your  being  aboard;  then  the 
whole  ship  would  know,  and  you  would  be  in  the 


ON   THE   LONE   STAR  149 

soup.  Bagshot  will  hatch  up  a  story.  Shearpole 
will  raise  hell — and  how  will  you  come  out?  It's  an 
easy  conundrum.  I  would  advise  you  to  let  wireless 
alone,  Jack." 

"You  are  a  Job's  comforter,  for  sure,  Van." 

"Well,  not  altogether,  I  think.  It  is  more  than 
likely  that  Bunsen  will  telegraph  orders  to  Galveston 
and  have  your  friend  nabbed  when  he  steps  ashore. 
That  would  be  better  than  warning  them  ahead  of 
time.  There  are  more  or  less  relations  between  the 
police  forces  of  the  two  cities,  while  the  captain  of  a 
ship  is  an  uncertain  quantity." 

"That's  a  fairly  brilliant  idea,"  said  Wentworth. 
He  had  been  depressed  by  the  outlook,  but  the 
purser's  suggestion  appeared  logical. 

"And  it  is  necessary  that  you  keep  out  of  sight; 
I  see  that,"  continued  Van  Buskirk,  cheerfully.  "All 
I  can  do  for  you  is  to  give  you  a  room.  Of  course, 
you  pay  your  passage — you  are  not  a  stowaway. 
If  you  haven't  the  money  I'll  let  you  have  it." 

"Thanks,  I  have  sufficient." 

"All  right!  You  can  play  sick;  be  an  invalid, 
you  know,  and  I'll  see  that  your  meals  are  served  in 
your  stateroom.  At  night,  you  can  go  out  for  air 
and  exercise.  I'll  share  my  clothes  with  you,  we 
being  about  a  size,  and  in  a  uniform  cap  I  don't 
think  they  would  catch  on  to  you  if  they  saw  you, 
especially  in  the  evening.  I  dare  do  no  more  than 
this;  I  don't  wish  to  be  ruined.  At  Galveston  you 


150  THE   RED   PAPER 

can  consult  with  the  authorities.  Shall  I  let  the 
lady  know  you  are  aboard?" 

"No,"  returned  Wentworth,  "I  believe  I  can  man 
age  that  when  I  am  ready." 

"I'll  warrant  it — for  a  million,"  returned  the 
other,  laughing  and  thrusting  his  tongue  into  his 
cheek.  "Come,  I'll  get  you  settled  away  from 
Bagshot,  and  then  send  you  in  some  clothes  and 
some  supper.  You  must  be  nearly  starved.  I 
know  I  am." 

While  Wentworth,  in  the  secrecy  of  his  cabin, 
was  eating  his  first  meal  on  board  the  Lone  Star, 
he  had  one  source  of  satisfaction  and  one  hope. 
First,  that  he  would  see  the  girl  again  and  mark  the 
surprised  pleasure  on  her  face;  and,  second,  that 
the  astute  Bunsen,  when  he  arrived  at  the  pier  and 
found  the  steamer  gone,  would  telegraph  to  Gal- 
veston  and  have  the  criminals  arrested  on  their 
landing.  It  was  bright  of  Van  Buskirk  to  have 
foreseen  that— but  then.  Van  had  always  been  bright 
enough,  and  faithful  to  his  friends.  He  should  be 
rewarded. 

And  on  landing  he,  the  outraged  Wentworth, 
would  be  on  hand  as  a  witness  and  identifier.  He 
knew  that  unindicted  criminals  were  often  caught  by 
means  of  the  telegraph,  though  just  how  it  would 
be  in  Bagshot's  case  he  could  not  feel  certain;  but 
he  would  be  there;  and  he  now  saw  that  it  was 
well  that  he  had  obeyed  the  impulse  to  remain  aboard. 


ON    THE   LONE   STAR  151 

He  sat  back  in  satisfaction,  and,  taking  out  a  cigar, 
sent  its  smoke  to  tangle  among  his  dreams  of  the 
future,  not  knowing  that  almost  directly  across  the 
now  heaving  vessel  in  her  cabin  Grace  Merridale 
was  also  dreaming  dreams  not  so  roseate. 

Neither  did  he  know  that  at  the  very  moment 
he  was  thus  heartening  himself  Bunsen  was  lying 
in  a  hospital  in  a  dazed  and  half-conscious  condition. 
That  individual  had  hurriedly  closed  the  taxicab 
door  on  Wentworth,  given  his  card  to  the  chauffeur, 
rushed  into  the  court-house  and  up  the  long  stair 
way,  two  steps  at  a  time,  on  his  way  to  the  office 
of  the  district-attorney.  Once  there  he  knew  how 
to  make  the  wheels  run  rapidly  for  himself. 

As  he  reached  the  head  of  the  broad  stairs  the 
green  baize  doors  of  the  hall  were  dashed  open  and  a 
hurrying  messenger  drove  into  him  at  full  speed, 
knocking  him  backward,  and  together  the  two  had 
rolled  down  the  steps. 

The  messenger  was  not  badly  injured,  but  Bunsen 
lay  unconscious  and  was  at  once  hurried  to  the 
Hudson  Street  Hospital.  The  fates  were  not  yet 
ready  to  smile  on  Mr.  John  Wentworth. 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  CLIMAX 

THAT  evening,  clad  in  dark  clothes,  and  with  a 
yachting  cap  borrowed  from  the  purser, 
John  went  on  deck.  He  had  hoped  and 
expected  that  at  least  he  would  have  a  sight  of  Mis.-; 
Merridale,  but  in  this  he  was  disappointed;  a  strong 
wind  was  blowing  from  the  south,  and  the  ship, 
driving  into  it,  gave  the  air  the  force  of  a  whole  gale. 
It  was  very  damp,  too,  and  the  deck  so  unpleasant 
as  to  be  almost  deserted;  to  the  young  man  it  was 
evident  that  the  girl  preferred  the  comfort  and  solitude 
of  her  stateroom. 

But  he  faced  the  strong  wind,  striding  up  and  down 
and  thinking  of  the  consternation  caused  by  his 
sudden  and  unexplained  absence  from  his  studio. 
Neither  Harper  nor  Thomas  could  have  any  knowledge 
of  his  whereabouts,  or  even  of  his  safety,  and  it  would 
be  impracticable  to  communicate  with  either  in 
less  than  a  week.  Bunsen,  he  thought,  would  be 
bright  enough  to  understand  his  absence,  but  the 
others  might  be  possessed  by  the  idea  of  foul  play, 
and  so  arouse  the  police  to  action. 

152 


A   CLIMAX  153 

"A  fine  mess  I've  made  of  the  whole  thing,  from 
the  beginning  up  to  date!  he  muttered  to  himself, 
halting  in  his  walk  and  rewrapping  the  leaf  of  his 
cigar,  which  was  glowing  in  the  wind  as  though  it 
would  burst  into  flame.  As  he  did  so,  and  saw  the 
uselcssness  of  smoking  in  such  a  rush  of  air,  a  figure 
emerged  from  the  shadow  of  a  sheltered  nook  and 
accosted  him. 

"May  I  beg  a  little  fire,  sir?  One  can't  light  a 
match  in  this  cursed  draft.'1 

With  a  glance  Wentworth  recognized  the  man. 

It  was  Bagsliot.  There  was  no  mistaking  his 
figure,  his  Southern  accent,  or  the  quality  of  his 
voice,  though  th/j  gloom  was  too  deep  to  allow  more 
than  the  outline  of  his  features  to  be  seen.  John 
did  not  start.  He  knew  his  own  identity  was  not 
suspected,  and,  without  speaking,  he  tendered  his 
half-consumed  cigar. 

But  he  watched  the  face  of  the  other  as  it  was  faintly 
illumined  by  the  fitful  glow  of  the  fire.  It  was  hard 
and  ugly,  and  there  was  a  two  days1  growth  of  gray 
stubble  on  the  square  chin,  while  the  lines  under  the 
small  gray  eyes  were  dark.  It  was  the  countenance 
of  a  tired  and  worried  man. 

The  cigar  was  returned  with  a  gruff  '"Thanks," 
and  with  a  stiff  bend  of  the  body,  Bagshot  went  back 
to  his  shelter.  Without  a  return  of  the  salutation 
Wentworth  threw  the  remains  of  the  cigar  over  the 
rail,  and  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  sudden  retreat 


154  THE    RED    PAPER 

he  took  two  or  three  more  turns  up  and  down  the  deck, 
his  eye  open  for  Planet.  But  Planet  was  not  in  sight. 
Wentworth  returned  to  his  quarters,  and  for  a  moment 
was  tempted  to  do  a  foolish  thing:  find  and  force  the 
door  of  Bagshot's  stateroom  and  search  it  for  the  red 
paper;  but  when  he  stopped  and  considered  that  the 
Mexican  might  be  there,  and  that  in  all  probability 
his  enemy  carried  the  precious  document  on  his  per 
son,  he  saw  both  the  uselessness  and  danger  of  such 
an  attempt. 

The  following  two  days  were  stormy,  and  so 
boisterous  that  the  deck  was  untenantable.  Night 
and  day  Wentworth  remained  in  his  room,  lonely 
save  for  the  infrequent  visits  of  the  purser,  and  beset 
by  ennui  and  discouragement,  though  he  was  not 
seasick,  being  too  hardened  a  yachtsman  for  that 
weakness. 

The  fourth  night  out  was  ideal.  The  sea  had  gone 
down  and  the  soft,  warm  wind  bore  a  hint  of  the 
tropics  the  vessel  was  approaching.  There  was  no 
moon,  but  the  stars  were  bright,  their  light  glinting 
from  the  tops  of  the  burnished  swells,  though  barely 
illuminating  the  black  sea.  It  was  a  night  for 
romance  and  adventure,  a  night  for  music  and  lan 
guor — for  love  and  lovers. 

Hot,  impatient  of  himself  and  thoroughly  dis 
gruntled  with  life,  and  these  from  a  cause  he  had 
not  attempted  to  analyze,  Wentworth  went  on  deck 
as  soon  as  it  became  fairly  dark.  The  change  of 


A   CLIMAX  155 

weather  and  the  steadiness  of  the  ship  had  brought 
nearly  every  passanger  from  below,  and  Wentworth 
had  not  made  half  the  tour  of  the  deck  when  he  saw 
the  subject  of  most  of  his  thoughts  sitting  on  the 
starboard  side,  near  the  main  stairway,  and  at  some 
distance  from  the  chattering  group  of  convalescents. 
The  girl  was  alone,  her  head  resting  on  one  hand  as 
she  reclined  in  a  steamer-chair.  In  the  reflected  light 
from  the  saloon  her  face  showed  very  pale,  while 
both  attitude  and  expression  spoke  of  lowness  of 
spirits.  She  did  not  notice  the  tail  young  fellow  who 
passed  her,  nor  did  he  attempt  to  attract  her  atten 
tion;  just  then  he  dared  not;  he  first  wished  to  see 
if  the  coast  was  clear. 

Wentworth  did  not  find  Bagshot  or  his  henchman, 
though  he  looked  sharply  as  he  went  around  the  deck. 
By  then  he  was  keyed  up,  though  he  held  himself 
at  apparent  poise,  and  as  he  completed  the  round 
of  the  vessel's  deck  he  flung  away  the  remains  of 
his  cigar  and  approached  the  lady. 

"Miss  Merridale." 

At  the  sound  of  her  name  uttered  by  a  stranger 
the  girl  looked  up  quickly,  then  she  leaned  forward, 
her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  very  wide.  She  might  have 
sat  for  a  model  of  Consternation.  Wentworth  was 
at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"Pardon  me.  I  was  inconsiderate  to  startle  you 
so,"  he  said  softly.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him, 
her  eyes  glowing,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  bosom. 


156  THE   RED    PAPER 

"You!  You!  What  are  you  doing  here?"  The 
voice  was  barely  above  a  whisper. 

"I  hardly  know,  myself,"  said  Wentworth.  attempt 
ing  a  light  laugh.  "  Only  I  am  here.  At  the  •.  , 
minute  my  spirit  protested.  I  could  not  leave  you 
alone.  I — I  stayed  to  help  you." 

"I — I  am  glad  I  did  not  know  it.  I  should  have 
forbidden  you." 

"Why?" 

"Not  that  I  do  not  appreciate  what  you  would  do 
for  me.  You  were  good  to  think  of  me,  but — bat 
you  will  only  make  matters  worse!  Mr.  Wentworth, 
you  must  not  stay  here,  by  rne.  He  is  coming  up  in 
a  moment.  Don't  let  him  see  you!  Think  of  what 
might  happen!" 

"I  feel  reasonably  secure  for  the  present;  it 
is  for  you  I  am  anxious.  Is  there  anything 
new?" 

"Nothing.  I  have  been  sick  in  body  and  heart. 
Oh,  do  go." 

"How  is  our  mutual  friend  and  admirer,  Jose?" 

"He  is  sick,  also,  I  understand.  Oh,  Mr.  Went 
worth,  please  go."  The  voice  was  low  and  pleading; 
the  girl  was  on  the  verge  of  panic,  but,  man-like, 
Wentworth  looked  upon  her  state  as  an  additional 
attraction.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  state  that  he 
realized  the  extent  of  her  suffering,  but  it  was  novel, 
and  something  more  than  merely  pleasing  for  him 
to  be  begged  for  anything  by  a  pretty  woman — or 


A  CLIMAX  157 

by  that  pretty  woman.     He  did  not  make  a  move 
to  leave  her. 

"And  am  I  never  to  see  you?  Am  I  not  to  be 
considered?"  he  asked. 

"Not  considered?     Considering  you  is  what  I  am 
doing!     What   more   can   I   do?     Please — please — 
She  stood  up  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.    "Won't 
you  give  me  time  to  think?" 

"Let  me  think  for  you,"  returned  the  man,  with 
a  sudden  passion  he  did  not  understand — that  was 
strange  to  him.  "I'll  swear  no  harm  shall  come  to 
you.  As  for  myself,  I  have  no  fear." 

"Don't!  Don't  talk  so!"  she  implored.  "If- 
I  will  find  a  way  to  meet  you — when  we  can  be  safer. 
Where  is  your  room?" 

"Number  thirty-nine — near  yours." 

"Oh,  how  have  you  dared?  How  have  you  dared? 
And  for  me!" 

"For  you.     And  I  will  see  you.     I  must." 

"Perhaps,  but  no  longer  now— 

"How  long  must  I  wait?" 

"Until  you  hear  from  me." 

"It  will  be  soon?" 

"Soon."  She  held  out  both  hands  to  him  to  urge 
him  from  her,  and  now  her  face  was  animated. 
Wentworth,  now  well  launched  on  what  to  him  was  an 
unknown  sea,  caught  one  of  her  hands  and  was  about 
to  raise  it  to  her  lips  when  he  saw  her  look  directed 
to  something  behind  him,  and  her  eyes  widen  with 


158  THE   RED   PAPER 

fear.  He  dropped  the  lax  fingers  and  turned  to  see 
Bagshot  step  through  the  door  of  the  companionway. 

That  individual  was  smiling  broadly — a  smile  that 
suggested  his  having  for  some  time  enjoyed  a  sight 
of  the  two,  though  to  have  heard  a  word  through  the 
intervening  distance  would  have  been  impossible. 
He  walked  directly  to  the  young  man. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wentworth?" 

The  tone  was  that  of  easy  friendship;  there  was 
neither  anger  nor  astonishment  in  it.  To  all  ap 
pearances  here  was  the  casual  meeting  of  two  acquain 
tances.  The  girl  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"You  had  better  retire  to  your  stateroom,  my 
dear,"  said  Bagshot  smoothly,  though  there  was  a 
sinister  ring  in  his  voice.  "I  think  I  can  entertain 
this  gentleman." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
AN  OPEN  GAME 

IT  cannot  be  said  that  Wentworth  held  a  perfect 
mental  poise  as  he  realized  the  situation,  but 
if  he  had  a  sense  of  absolute  consternation,  he 
was  overcome  but  for  a  brief  instant,  and  failed  to 
show  it  in  either  face  or  bearing.  With  a  quick 
appreciation  of  the  fact  that  Bagshot  could  not 
know  of  the  extent  of  his  intimacy  with  the  girl,  he 
ignored  the  hypocrisy  of  the  extended  hand  and 
addressed  the  lady  as  she  started  to  turn  away. 

"I  trust,  madam,  you  will  pardon  my  effrontery. 
My  plea  is  that  I  have  seen  you  once  before  in  your 
father's  house.  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  again." 

"You  are  excusable,  perhaps,  under  the  circum 
stances,"  returned  the  girl,  grasping  at  self-control, 
and  on  the  instant  following  the  lead  she  was  given. 
"You  took  me  at  a  disadvantage.  I  was  startled. 
Good-evening,  sir." 

She  bowed  gracefully  and  left  the  two  men  together, 
carrying  herself  proudly  until  she  reached  her  state 
room.  In  its  seclusion  she  dropped  on  the  cushioned 

159 


160  THE   RED   PAPER 

locker  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  broke  into 
a  paroxysm  of  subdued  sobs. 

On  deck  Wentworth  and  Bagshot  stood  looking 
at  each  other  for  a  moment,  neither  speaking.     Pres 
ently  the  latter  broke  the  silence. 
;    "Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool,  sir?" 

The  interim  had  given  the  younger  man  time  to 
collect  himself.  The  success  of  his  interview  with 
the  lady,  and  the  easy  way  they  had  pulled  the  wool 
over  the  eyes  of  Bagshot,  made  his  position  so  as 
sured  in  his  own  mind  that  he  felt  almost  jocular 
as  he  answered: 

"That  is  a  question  admitting  of  argument,  Mr. 
Bagshot,  or  Merridale — Bagshot.  It  is  said  that 
every  man  is  a  fool  for  being  dishonest  or  criminal. 
On  that  basis  I  must  think  you  a  fool,  for  you  cer 
tainly  are  a  villain." 

The  other  did  not  appear  to  be  offended  at  this 
plain  speech  which  brought  him  to  a  stop.  A  moment 
or  two  intervened,  then,  grasping  a  deck  stanchion,  he 
leaned  against  it  and  said:  "You  don't  mince  your 
words,  sir.  You  certainly  are  honest  in  that  regard. 
What  do  you  expect  to  do  on  board  this  vessel?" 

"That  is  strictly  my  affair,"  said  Wentworth, 
taking  a  fresh  cigar  from  his  pocket  and  carefully 
cutting  off  the  end.  He  had  himself  well  in  hand  by 
then,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  protect  the  girl 
at  any  cost  to  himself. 

"However,"  he  continued,  taking  a  match  from  a 


AN   OPEN   GAME  161 

gold  box  and  affecting  a  carelessness  he  was  far  from 
feeling  as  he  lighted  the  perfecto,  "I  am  so  far  im 
pressed  by  your  tribute  to  my  honesty  that  I  will 
continue  to  be  plain.  I  called  you  a  villain.  You 
are  a  liar,  as  well.  If  you  are  that  lady's  father,  her 
name  cannot  be  Merridale.  If  she  is  not  your 
daughter,  I  congratulate  her." 

"And  how  did  you  come  to  know  my  name?" 
asked  the  other,  biting  his  lip. 

"That  is  my  business." 

Bagshot  forced  a  laugh  as  he  took  a  cigar  from 
his  own  pocket,  lighting  it.  "You  certainly  are  a 
man  of  parts,  Mr.  Wentworth!  I  admire  you!  I 
wish  I  could  enlist  you !  Let  us  talk  plainly  a  moment. 
You  have  followed  me  for  a  purpose;  that  purpose 
is  connected  with  a  certain  paper. 

"That  paper  was,  and  is,  mine — at  least  as  much 
mine  as  yours,  and  Grace  Merridale  stands  nearer 
to  me  than  to  you." 

"How  much  nearer?" 

"That  is  my  business."  The  return  was  made 
with  an  air  of  great  satisfaction.  Wentworth  was 
vexed  at  having  laid  himself  open  to  his  enemy,  even 
in  a  fence  with  words.  Bagshot  continued:  "You 
had  no  warrant  in  law  for  holding  that  paper.  You 
assaulted  me,  not  I  you.  The  law  you  would  like 
to  invoke  would  protect  me  and  not  you.  I  have 
the  paper  and,  therefore,  possess  nine  points  in  our 
contest.  What  can  you  do  about  it?" 


162  THE   RED   PAPER 

Notwithstanding  that  his  gorge  was  rising  against 
this  bare  sophistry,  and  the  last  question  did  nothing 
to  allay  his  anger,  Wentworth  felt  relieved  inasmuch 
as  it  was  fairly  plain  that  Bagshot  did  not  suspect 
the  girl. 

"I  confess  that  I  came  here  to  shake  the  paper 
out  of  you."  said  the  young  man.  "But  I  came  too 
late.  As  for  being  here  now — I  was  carried  off  by 
accident." 

Bagshot  grinned  in  his  face.  "And  you  still  take 
me  for  a  fool.  You  had  some  other  reason.  What 
is  it?" 

"Again,  that  is  my  business." 

"Which  answer  is  an  acknowledgment  of  the  fact 
as  I  stated  it.  What  is  the  use  of  our  fencing  like 
little  boys  with  reeds?  Come,  sir!  Can  we  not 
compromise?  If  you  will  drop  your  absurd  position 
regarding  the  thing  called  honor,  and  join  me,  I  will 
make  you  fabulously  rich.  Can  we  not  do  it?  I 
think  so.  I  need  a  man  like  you." 

Wentworth  had  been  holding  himself  in  check, 
and  to  avoid  boiling  over  at  sight  of  the  man  by  his 
side  he  turned  and  looked  out  over  the  dark  sea 
that  rolled  under  and  gently  heaved  the  vessel.  But 
at  Bagshot's  infamous  proposition  to  compromise 
with  him  he  lost  hold  of  both  temper  and  discretion, 
and  wheeled  on  the  Southerner. 

"What,  sir!  Do  you  propose  that  I  sell  out  at  the 
expense  of  Grace  Merridale  and  the  honor  you  sneer 


AN   OPEN   GAME  163 

at?  Listen  to  me :  I  would  as  soon  compromise  with 
the  devil  himself!  I  know  you,  sir,  from  the  soles 
of  your  feet  to  the  top  of  your  foul  head.  You 
are  right  in  thinking  I  am  here  for  some  purpose 
other  than  to  obtain  possession  of  a  map  that  may 
or  may  not  be  worthless,  and  in  which  I  have 
no  interest.  Have  you  taken  me  for  a  cursed 
idiot?" 

"Perhaps  you  are  something  of  a  villain  yourself," 
was  the  angry  retort.  "Would  you  be  so  hot  on  my 
trail  if  I  had  not  a  handsome  daughter?  Or,  do 
you  aim  at  thanks  and  a  more  tangible  reward  from 
Grace  Merridale?  If  not,  why  are  you  here?" 

Wentworth's  spleen  rose  high  at  the  sneer  at  him 
self,  and  higher  at  the  thinly  covered  insult  to  the 
lady.  If  he  needed  proof  that  Grace  Merridale 
was  not  this  man's  daughter  it  was  furnished  by 
Bagshot's  innuendo  against  her.  Throwing  every 
consideration  to  the  wind,  Wentworth  took  a  step 
nearer  the  man,  holding  on  to  the  upright  stanchion, 
and  in  a  low  voice,  he  said:  "Sir,  have  you  even  no 
regard  for  a  lady's  reputation?  You  ask  me  what  I 
am  here  for.  Well,  Mr.  Simeon  Bagshot,  I  am  here 
that  I  may  see  you  arrested  when  you  set  foot  in 
Galveston — arrested,  not  as  a  mere  thief,  but  as  a 
murderer." 

"Murder!"  exclaimed  Bagshot,  straightening  him 
self  and  suddenly  losing  the  sardonic  grin  he  had 
put  on  when  Wentworth  began  his  tirade. 


164  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Ay,  murder!  And  had  this  vessel  been  delayed 
ten  minutes  you  would  now  be  in  the  Tombs!" 

In  the  uncertain  light  Wentworth  could  see  the 
man's  complexion  change,  its  normal  ruddiness  giv 
ing  place  to  pallor,  while  the  cigar  he  had  been  smok 
ing  fell  from  his  lips  unnoticed. 

"You  are  crazy!"  said  Bagshot;  but  the  protest 
was  neither  loud  nor  strong. 

"Comfort  your  soul  that  way,  if  you  can,"  was  the 
retort.  "I  keep  my  hands  from  you  now,  but  if 
I  did  not  live  in  the  hope  of  justice,  I'd  throw  you 
over  the  rail — if  I  had  to  swing  for  it. 

"Listen  to  me!  You  are  the  last  man  my  father 
ever  saw  in  this  world.  You  threatened  to  murder 
him.  Outside  of  his  house,  Planet — your  veritable 
satellite,  stood  watching.  I  saw  him;  he  spoke  to 
me.  Now  you  know  me,  sir,  and  as  Heaven  is  my 
witness,  I'll  follow  you  to  the  crack  of  doom  to  bring 
you  to  your  just  deserts!" 

Wentworth  delivered  this  forcibly,  being  well-nigh 
beside  himself,  and  as  he  saw  the  effect  of  the  shot 
he  had  fired,  he  at  once  regretted  it.  He  knew  he 
had  accomplished  no  more  than  to  put  his  enemy 
on  his  guard. 

For  all  his  powers  of  self-control  this  blow  was 
more  than  Bagshot  could  stand.  However,  the 
gloom  hid  much  of  his  emotion  from  Wentworth; 
it  hid  the  palpable  shaking  of  the  man's  knees,  if 
not  the  nervous  working  of  his  face.  He  still  had 


AN   OPEN   GAME  165 

hold  of  the  deck  stanchion,  else  he  might  have  fallen, 
and  he  stood,  not  daring  to  let  go,  for  a  moment 
unable  to  speak.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to  run 
tamely  from  any  field.  After  a  space  of  silence  he 
recovered  a  measure  of  self-control,  sufficient,  at 
least,  to  enable  him  to  use  his  voice. 

"I — I  confess  you  staggered  me,  Mr.  Wentworth," 
he  began,  with  an  attempt  at  lightness  of  manner. 
"No  man  listens  to  a  charge  of — to  such  a  charge 
unmoved.  But  your  bluff  is  nonsensical!  I  grant 
you  may  have  reason  to  feel  hard  toward  me— as  I 
have  got  the  better  of  you — but  as  a  threat  you  are 
not  a  success.  A  gentleman  of  my  standing  is  not 
to  be  fazed  by  one  of  your  stamp.  Sir,  your  father 
died  of  heart  disease.  Even  the  police  say  there  was 
no — no  murder.  I  understand  you  now.  You  have 
played  your  card,  but  you  have  yet  to  see  mine. 
Good-night,  sir." 

Without  risking  a  return  from  the  other  he  pulled 
himself  upright  and  walked  off  with  an  attempt  at 
jauntiness  and  a  wave  of  his  fat  hand. 

But  the  words  and  act  did  not  deceive  Wentworth, 
who  remained  looking  at  the  door  through  which 
Bagshot  disappeared.  ''I  have  rather  overleaped 
the  matter,"  he  mused;  "but  I  have  given  that 
fellow  a  shot  under  his  water-line  and  what  have  I 
gained?  Not  a  damn  thing  but  to  put  myself  in 
danger.  For  Bagshot  is  not  the  man  to  let  me  alone 
after  this.  Hereafter,  I  think  I  had  better  not 


166  THE   RED   PAPER 

expose  myself  after  dark;   the  water  is  cursedly  deep 
here!" 

He  finished  his  cigar  in  silent  cogitation,  tossed  the 
end  over  the  rail  and  turned  in,  carefully  locking  his 
stateroom-door.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
wished  he  carried  a  revolver. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
BAGSHOT'S  FIRST  MOVE 

AGSHOT  was  a  shaken  man,  and  looked  it 
as  he  went  down  the  broad  companion  steps 
on  the  way  to  Planet's  stateroom.  But 
he  was  a  man  of  resource — a  man  who  dies  hard. 
His  lip  was  bleeding  where  he  had  bitten  it,  and  the 
color  had  not  returned  to  his  face  as  he  entered  his 
henchman's  well-lighted  quarters.  Planet  lay  in 
his  bunk,  weak,  yellow  and  nerveless.  The  Mexican 
was  not  a  good  sailor. 

"What  ecs  eet?"  the  sick  man  asked  as  he  saw  the 
other's  face. 

"What  ees  eet!"  was  the  mocking  return.  "I 
have  just  met  Wentworth — that  ees  eet." 

"Heem!  Here!"  The  Mexican  started  to  his 
elbow. 

"Yes — heem  is  here,"  was  the  scornful  answer. 
"He  came  aboard — and  stayed  aboard.  He  says 
he  was  carried  off  by  accident." 

"Hell!"  Planet  fell  back  on  his  pillow.  For  a 
moment  there  was  silence  while  Bagshot  looked  at 

167 


16S  THE   RED   PAPER 

the  more  than  perplexed  invalid,  but  it  was  the 
Mexican  who  broke  the  silence. 

"You  liaf  blood  on  your  mout!"     Did  he— 

"Shut  up:  Xo!  he  didn't!  Do  you  think  I'd 
he  ass  enough  to  tackle  him  barehanded?  It's  worse 
than  that!  It's  you  who  have  made  the  trouble! 
He  charges  you  with  killing  his  father." 

"Me!" 

The  sallow  man  started  up  in  his  bunk  so  violently 
as  to  bring  his  head  smartly  against  the  upper  berth. 
He  fell  back  with  a  groan,  his  face  filled  with 
terror. 

"Yes,  you  fool!  You  spoke  to  him  that  night. 
He  remembers  you.  You  never  told  me,  you  cursed 
greaser!  Were  you  trying  to  hang  both  of  us?" 

"Caramba!"  ejaculated  the  other  feebly.  "I  ask 
the  time — yes.  But  I  know  heem  not!  I  walk  away. 
I  think  you  will  nevair  come!  Dios!  An'  he  remem- 
bair!"  " 

"Yes,  he  remembers  you.     There  is  no  proof— 

"I'll  knife  heem!"  interrupted  the  Mexican. 
Bagshot  strode  to  the  bunk  and  shook  his  fist  in  the 
other's  face. 

"  You'll  keep  out  of  sight!"  he  whispered.  "Do 
what  you  like  when  we  get  ashore." 

"Then,  what— " 

"Leave  it  to  me.  Do  you  suppose  I'll  risk  any 
work  of  that  sort  here?  Where's  your  sand?" 

"Suppose  he  meet  with  the — Gra-ace?" 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  169 

"He  did  meet  her.  He  was  talking  with  her.  He 
kissed  her  hand." 

As  though  he  knew  the  effect  of  his  words  Bag- 
shot  smiled  grimly  as  he  spoke.  The  Mexican  forgot 
his  weakness  and  struggled  from  his  bed.  "He  make 
the  luf  to  her— to  Gra-ace!  I'll—" 

"You'll  do  nothing,"  said  Bagshot,  grasping  the 
man  and  forcing  him  back  to  his  bunk.  "You  lift 
a  finger  to  do  what  I  forbid,  and  I'll  give  you  the 
cold  shake.  Yes,  by  God!  I'll  prove  that  you 
killed  old  Wentworth,  even  though  you  didn't.  Do 
you  wish  Grace  to  know  the  whole  business?  She 
shall  see  no  more  of  his  highness,  even  if  I  have  to 
lock  her  up!  I  have  enough  to  arrange  without 
your  bothering  me  and  putting  your  foot  into  it. 
Shearpole  will  help  us  out  if  you  don't  make  it  im 
possible!" 

"You  know  best!"  said  the  Mexican  contritely. 
"But  I  would  like  one  more  wr-r-restle  with  heem  for 
the  throat  he  put  on  me — for  the  insult." 

"You  may  yet  have  your  chance,"  said  Bagshot, 
"But  for  now  keep  yourself  scarce.  Don't  show 
yourself  on  deck.  That's  what  I  came  here  to  tell 
you." 

He  washed  the  blood  from  his  mouth  and,  with 
another  warning  to  Planet,  went  out,  taking  his  way 
to  the  captain's  room. 

Though  there  was  now  no  reason  for  concealing 
himself,  from  prudential  motives  Wentworth  con- 


170  THE   RED   PAPER 

tinued  taking  his  meals  in  his  own  room,  and  the 
hours  of  his  exercise  on  deck  were  confined  to  day 
light.  Nor  did  he  ever  pass  a  gloomy  corner  without 
being  alert  against  what  might  come  from  it.  Of 
Bagshot  he  had  less  fear  than  of  the  wily  Mexican 
whom  he  had  not  seen  since  coming  on  board  the 
Lone  Star;  however,  he  knew  Planet  was  on  the 
vessel,  and  he  rightly  conjectured  that  if  any  foul 
play  was  put  forward  the  plot  would  be  laid  by  Bag- 
shot  and  executed  by  his  less  astute  henchman. 

Therefore,  never  for  a  moment  did  he  permit  his 
sense  of  danger  to  slumber,  though  as  time  passed 
nothing  happened  to  justify  his  fears.  He  did  not 
confer  with  the  purser,  not  deeming  it  advisable; 
he  could  see  no  way  for  Van  Buskirk  to  help 
him. 

The  hours  were  monotonous,  but  the  feeling  that  a 
climax  would  come  on  the  vessel's  arrival  at  Gal- 
veston  kept  Wentworth's  feelings  at  a  point  well 
above  depression,  though  not  above  a  measure  of 
worry.  He  thought  it  strange  that  his  open  appear 
ance  caused  no  comment  from  Captain  Shearpole, 
who  had  passed  him  twice,  but  with  hardly  a  second 
look  at  him,  taking  him,  the  young  man  thought, 
for  one  who  wished  to  be  exclusive,  as  he  had  not 
appeared  at  the  public  table.  Once  in  the  ensuing 
three  days  of  the  voyage  he  saw  Bagshot,  but  that 
individual  appeared  to  have  his  equanimity  com 
pletely  restored,  for  he  grinned  broadly  as  he  caught 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  171 

the  young  man's  eye,  disappearing  immediately 
thereafter. 

Though  he  waited  and  hoped  and  longed  for  a 
sight  of  the  girl,  Wentworth  did  not  see  her,  and  in 
consequence  was  troubled.  For  he  was  beginning  to 
discern  the  truth,  and,  being  honest  with  himself, 
had  come  to  know  that  he  had  not  taken  his  present 
position  entirely  in  vindication  of  his  honor  and  in 
the  pursuit  of  his  father's  suspected  murderer. 

That  he  was  in  love  with  a  girl  he  had  seen  but 
three  times  seemed  monstrous  to  him,  though  the 
footing  on  which  they  stood  made  the  conditions 
unusual.  But  so  it  was.  Aside  from  considerations 
apart  from  the  lady  he  knew  he  would  follow  her; 
he  would  help  her;  beyond  that  he  had  no  plan,  even 
in  his  secret  thoughts.  He  desired  to  win  her  strong 
regard;  anything  beyond  that  appeared  preposterous, 
though  why  it  should  he  could  not  have  told. 

He  wondered  and  worried,  and  continued  to  won 
der  and  worry,  planning  nothing  in  detail.  All  he 
had  determined  upon  was  to  keep  his  parties  in 
sight,  and  the  way  to  accomplish  that  seemed  to 
present  no  difficulties.  It  would  be  simple.  When 
they  left  the  steamer  he  would  follow,  unless,  indeed, 
as  he  hoped  and  believed,  the  criminal  would  be  met 
by  an  officer  of  the  law  the  moment  the  Lone  Star 
reached  her  pier.  In  that  event  the  lady  would  need 
his  protection. 

The  island  city  of  Galveston  was  reached  just  after 


172  THE   RED   PAPER 

sunset,  and,  not  greatly  to  Wentworth's  surprise,  the 
vessel  dropped  anchor.  He  knew  something  of  the 
difficulties  of  navigation  in  the  waters  of  that  port, 
and  the  necessity  of  high  tide  in  order  that  a  steamer 
of  the  size  of  the  Lone  Star  might  crawl  through  the 
pass  of  the  bar  and  reach  her  berth.  He  was  puzzled 
by  the  fact  that  a  deeply  laden  tramp  steamer  came 
out  without  difficulty,  but  he  asked  no  questions 
though  he  could  not  understand  the  delay.  He 
thought  it  a  trifle  strange,  too,  that  the  steamer  had 
not  been  met  and  boarded  by  the  Galveston  police; 
but  for  a  surety  no  police  came. 

The  young  man  was  not  discontented  at  the  pros 
pect  of  a  few  hours'  delay.  He  walked  the  deck 
breathing  in  the  balmy  and  delightful  air  of  the 
semi-tropics,  soothed  by  its  graciousness.  The  glit 
tering  lights  of  a  great  hotel  on  the  sea-wall  of  the 
distant  city  stimulated  his  imagination.  Though 
wealth}-  he  had  never  traveled  extensively,  having 
but  once  gone  over  the  treadmill  of  the  "grand  tour" 
of  Europe  with  no  great  pleasure.  He  was  far  from 
being  blase;  and  now  he  promised  himself  that  as 
soon  as  his  pressing  business  was  finished  he  would 
learn  more  of  his  own  country.  And  he  figured  that 
this  business  would  be  over  in  the  course  of  twenty- 
four  hours. 

Should  he  then  return  to  New  York?  He  could 
not  answer  that  question;  the  haze  of  uncertainty 
veiled  all  beyond  the  capture  of  his  father's  murderer 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  173 

and  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  the  red  paper. 
Of  course  he  would  write  to  Harper  and  explain; 
otherwise,  it  made  no  difference  to  anyone  where  he 
was  or  how  long  he  stayed. 

He  was  in  a  rather  complacent  frame  of  mind  wrhen 
he  went  to  his  room  early  in  order  to  be  up  by  day 
light.  He  undressed  in  the  dark,  and  had  hardly 
laid  himself  down  when  he  was  aroused  by  a  knock. 
Springing  from  his  bunk  he  opened  the  door,  and 
it  did  not  surprise  him  when  Van  Buskirk  stepped 
inside.  That  individual  appeared  hurried,  and  his 
vioce  was  perturbed. 

"They  are  going  to-night,"  whispered  the  purser. 
"Bagshot,  Planet  and  Miss  Merridale.  I  heard  the 
captain  give  an  order  for  the  quarter-boat  to  be 
lowered  for  them  at  eleven  o'clock.  Bagshot's 
trunks  are  to  be  sent  after  him,  but  to  where  I  don't 
know.  You  see  the  pull  he  has!" 

Wentworth  was  thunderstruck,  and  his  hand 
fairly  shook  as  he  lighted  the  cabin  lamp.  "The 
cursed  villain!  The  miserable  coward ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"Would  Captain  Shearpole  interfere  if  I  went  to 
him  and  told  him  the  truth?'' 

"No,  I  think  not.  You  remember  what  I  said 
about  their  being  old  friends?  He'd  pretend  not  to 
believe  you.  He's  a  hot-headed  specimen!  Hello! 
Is  this  yours?" 

The  purser  stooped  and  picked  up  a  folded  paper 
which  from  its  position  looked  as  if  it  might  have 


174  THE   RED   PAPER 

been  thrust  under  the  door.  With  a  quick  intuition 
as  to  its  nature  Wentworth  opened  it,  catching  a 
breath  of  the  perfume  with  which  it  was  scented  and 
which  he  now  knew  so  well. 

Have  discovered  we  leave  the  steamer  to-night.  I 
have  been  unable  to  see  you.  He  hardly  lets  me  from 
his  sight.  Our  first  stop  San  Antonio,  Mcngcr  Hotel. 
I  -will  continue  with  him.  There  is  nothing  else  for 
me  to  do.  Will  write  when  I  get  home.  Heaven  bless 
you,  my  friend,  for  all  you  have  done  for  me. 

G.  M. 

Wentworth  read  and  reread  the  note  and  then 
thrust  it  into  the  purser's  hand. 

"Doesn't  that  look  like  a  bid  to  follow?"  he  asked 
excitedly. 

"Looks  more  like  hopelessness,"  said  Van  Bus- 
kirk.  "Bagshot  is  giving  you  the  slip,  and  will 
get  clear!  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Do?"  cried  Wentworth,  getting  into  his  clothes 
with  record  haste.  "If  she  has  given  up,  I  haven't. 
I'm  going  in  that  boat!  " 

"How  will  you  manage  it?     I  can't  help  you." 

"I  don't  know  how  I  will  manage  it,  son;  and  I 
wouldn't  tell  you,  if  I  did — it  might  compromise 
you.  But  I  am  going  in  that  boat;  if  I  fail  I've  had 
my  trip  for  nothing — Bagshot  will  get  away!  Why 
are  we  lying  off  here  instead  of  going  up  to  the  city?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  hear  something's  gone  wrong 
with  the  machinery  and  in  fixing  it  we  lose  the  tide 


175 

to  take  us  through  the  pass.  We  won't  berth  till 
morning." 

Wentworth  stared  at  him.  He  thought  he  saw  a 
great  light.  The  purser  went  on:  "The  old  man 
wigged  me  like  the  devil  for  not  reporting  you.  I 
didn't  dare  tell  him  that  you  were  a  friend  of  mine 
or  that  Bagshot  had  been  lying  to  him;  only  that 
you  had  come  aboard  on  the  last  minute,  paid  your 
passage,  and  said  you  were  sick  and  wished  to  be 
alone.  Savvy?  Don't  give  me  away  on  your  life, 
or  you'll  ruin  me." 

"Don't  be  afraid.     What  time  is  it?" 

"Not  yet  nine  o'clock." 

"WThere  will  the  boat  be  lowered?" 

"Amidship — on  the  port  side." 

"All  right!  Don't  you  get  mixed  up  in  this,  Van. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  I  thank  you!  In  the  morning 
you  are  to  know  nothing  about  me,  and— 

At  that  moment  there  sounded  a  smart  knock. 
The  purser  retreated  behind  the  berth  curtain.  John 
opened  the  door. 

"I  wish  Mr.  Wentworth,"  said  a  young  officer 
whom  Wentworth  had  never  seen. 

"I  am  he." 

"Captain  Shearpole  wants  to  see  you  at  once,  sir- 
in  his  cabin." 

"When?     To-night?" 

"At  once,  sir;  if  you  please." 

"Very  good!     Lead  ahead,"  returned  Wentworth, 


176  THE   RED   PAPER 

seeing  the  necessity  of  giving  the  purser  an  opportu 
nity  to  escape.  That  his  call  was  in  some  way  related 
to  Bagshot  he  guessed.  "Perhaps,"  he  thought 
as  he  followed  the  quickly  stepping  officer,  "perhaps 
Shearpole  had  reviewed  the  facts,  and  not  wishing 
to  become  implicated  in  helping  a  criminal  to  escape, 
was  about  to  put  a  few  questions  before  Bagshot 
left  the  vessel. 

Had  Wentworth  given  the  matter  longer  con 
sideration  he  would  have  known  his  conclusion  to 
be  false.  In  a  moment  the  two  entered  the  captain's 
room. 

Captain  Shearpole  was  sitting  at  his  desk  when 
Wentworth  was  ushered  in.  He  turned  his  hard, 
weather-beaten  old  face  to  the  young  man  and 
motioned  the  escort  to  retire. 

"You  sent  for  me,"  said  John,  who  had  an  idea 
that  his  chance  for  appeal  had  been  forced  upon 
him.  The  captain's  frown  deepened  to  a  scowl. 

"Who  are  you,  sir?  I  fail  to  recognize  you  as  a 
passenger. " 

"But  I  am  a  passenger,"  was  the  serene  return. 
"My  name  is  Wentworth." 

"Oh!  Your  name  is  Wentworth,  is  it?"  exclaimed 
Shearpole,  with  a  well-defined  sneer  in  his  voice,  as 
he  squared  himself  and  his  eyes  began  to  shine. 
"You  are  the  sneak,  hey!  Why  did  you  not  come 
openly  aboard  my  ship?  Tell  me  that,  sir." 

Wentworth  instantly  saw  the  belligerent  attitude 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  177 

of  the  man  and  that  there  was  no  chance  for  him 
here.  He  had  been  about  to  unbosom  himself,  but 
the  captain's  tone  and  bearing  sealed  his  lips,  so  far 
as  his  errand  was  concerned,  for  the  time.  It  was 
not  his  move. 

"I  did  not  sneak  aboard  this  vessel,  sir.  I  came 
openly. " 

"You  came  openly,  hey?  Did  you  engage  your 
passage  and  register  as  others  do?" 

"I  did  not." 

"You  did  not!     And  why  not,  sir?" 

"I  refuse  to  be  catechised,"  returned  Wentworth. 
"I  went  to  the  purser  and  paid  my  way— paid  it  in 
full.  There  is  no  law— 

"Don't  talk  to  me  of  law,  young  fellow,"  inter 
rupted  the  other,  hotly.  "I  know  your  kind!  You 
came  aboard  for  the  purpose  of  importuning  and 
pestering  a  lady — a  friend  of  mine,  and  under  my 
protection  while  aboard  my  vessel.  You  have 
followed  her  for  weeks,  sir.  I  know  you!  She  wishes 
to  be  rid  of  you  and  your  sort." 

Wentworth  was  taken  fair  aback  at  this  explosion. 
In  the  turn  of  affairs  he  saw  the  name  of  Bagshot 
written  large,  but  he  did  not  then  lose  his  temper. 

"You  have  been  misinformed,  Captain  Shear- 
pole,"  he  returned.  "I  followed  a  criminal  aboard 
this  steamer.  I  was  awaiting  a  warrant  and  was 
carried  off  by  accident." 

"You  lie,  sir!    It  was  by  no  accident.     You  were 


178  THE   RED   PAPER 

warned  ashore — my  officer  told  me  so.  Do  you 
think  I  don't  know  what  has  been  going  on  aboard 
my  own  ship?" 

"Call  it  intention,  then,  sir,  but  certainly  not 
premeditated.  I  stated  I  was  following  a  criminal, 
and  felt  I  was  about  to  lose  him." 

"Ay?  A  criminal?  And  who?"  The  white  eye 
brows  were  raised  as  if  in  wonder. 

"Simeon  Bagshot,  Captain  Shearpole.  He's  a 
thief— and  worse." 

"I  dare  say — from  your  point  of  view.  I  am  not 
surprised  at  you!  Are  you  an  officer  of  the  law?" 

"No,  sir,  but— " 

"Damn  your  buts!  You  are  a  fraud — a  liar,  sir!" 
shouted  the  choleric  old  fellow,  bringing  his  fist 
down  on  the  desk  with  a  bang.  "Your  story  is 
poppycock!  I  know  your  history,  and  the  base  of 
your  insulting  charge.  I  know  all  about  it.  Bag- 
shot  a  criminal — a  thief!  I  have  known  him  for 
thirty  years!" 

Wentworth  was  outraged,  and  his  blood  leaped 
to  the  boiling-point  in  an  instant. 

"Then  I  have  learned  him  better  in  thirty  hours!" 
he  retorted  with  heat.  "You  have  twice  called  me 
a  liar  without  provocation — you  shall  answer  for 
that.  You  also  say  that  Miss  Merridale  complains 
of  my  importunity — that  I  have  followed  her  for 
weeks.  I  have  known  her  for  less  than  nine  days. 
I  say  you  speak  a  falsehood.  Does  this  look  like 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  179 

the  result  of  importunity?  Read  this  and  be 
fair." 

He  pulled  out  the  note  he  had  just  received  and 
held  it  toward  the  captain. 

"Curse  you  and  your  letters!"  returned  the  old 
man,  purple  with  rage,  as  with  one  hand  he  ham 
mered  on  the  gong  on  his  desk  and  with  the  other 
waved  off  the  proffered  paper.  He  had  been  defied 
on  board  his  own  ship;  he  had  been  told  that  he 
lied;  having  called  another  a  liar  did  not  excuse  this 
Use  majeste.  He  would  show  this  upstart  landsman 
what  it  meant  to  combat  a  sea-captain  on  his  own 
vessel. 

Before  Wentworth  could  say  more  the  call  of  the 
bell  was  answered  by  a  man  in  the  dress  of  a  sailor, 
though  that  he  was  a  petty  official,  or  sub-officer 
of  some  kind,  was  indicated  by  the  design  on  his 
sleeve.  Shearpole  pointed  at  Wentworth,  and  his 
washed-out  blue  eyes  were  blazing  as  he  shouted: 
"Take  that  fellow  out  of  here.  Take  him  to  his 
stateroom  and  see  that  he  doesn't  leave  it  without 
a  guard."  Then  turning  to  his  victim  he  said: 
"You'll  not  put  foot  on  shore,  sir,  until  we  get  back 
to  New  York.  I'll  show  you,  sir!  I'll  teach  you 
to  talk  back  to  me.  You  need  a  trimming,  and 
you'll  get  it." 

Wentworth  almost  smiled  as  he  saw  how  the  man 
had  let  his  anger  blind  him  to  the  law;  but  he  drew 
himself  up  and  squarely  faced  the  enraged  official. 


180  THE   RED  PAPER 

"Captain  Shcarpole,"  he  said,  "I  demand  a  boat 
in  order  to  leave  this  vessel.  You  give  the  privilege 
to  others;  it  is  mine  as  well.  It  is  my  right.  You 
cannot  hold  me  a  prisoner;  and  you  cannot  return 
me  to  New  York  without  it  costing  your  company 
more  than  it  would  care  to  pay,  and  costing  you  your 
position.  I  think  the  latter  will  occur  in  any  event." 

Shearpole  bounded  to  his  feet. 

"Do  ye  dare  face  me  down!  Off  with  ye,  before 
I  order  ye  ironed!" 

The  man  who  had  come  in  touched  John  on  the 
shoulder. 

"Better  come  along.  It  will  cost  ye  less  in  the 
end." 

Wentworth  was  boiling,  but  he  turned  and  left 
the  cabin,  afraid  to  remain  lest  he  lose  complete 
control  of  himself.  He  was  more  angry  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life,  not  alone  because  he  had  been 
thwarted,  but  because  he  hated  injustice.  That  the 
captain  was  entrenched  behind  the  law  which  made 
him  king  on  his  own  vessel,  he  knew  well  enough, 
and  that  there  was  no  immediate  appeal  from  Shear- 
pole's  order  made  him  the  more  desperate. 

But  whatever  else  had  been  accomplished  he  had 
not  been  tamed.  When  he  reached  his  own  room, 
his  cheeks  tingling  from  excitement,  he  found  the 
sailor  close  behind  him.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do?"  he  asked. 

"Coin'  to  obey  orders,"  was  the  uncompromising 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  181 

return.  "Advise  you  not  to  cut  up  rough.  Won't 
do  the  the  least  good.  Perhaps  in  the  mornin'  the 
old  man'll  feel  different,  but  he's  pretty  mad  now." 

" Suppose  I  refuse  to  go  into  my  room?" 

"Then  I'll  call  help  to  put  ye  there.  Can't  say  I 
wants  to  handle  you  alone!  Better  take  it  easy,  sir. 
Less  harm  will  come  of  it." 

With  a  glance  Wentworth  sized  up  the  man. 
Undoubtedly  he  could  handle  him  if  it  came  to  a 
fight,  but  there  seemed  little  to  be  gained  in  that 
save  to  make  another  enemy.  He  turned  and  entered 
his  room,  barely  crossing  the  threshold  when  the  door 
was  closed  and  the  key  turned  in  the  lock.  He 
looked  behind  the  curtains.  Van  Buskirk  was  gone, 
asfhe  had  hoped  and  expected. 

And  he  had  told  the  purser  that  he  was  going  in 
the  boat.  It  looked  to  be  a  vain  boast  now.  He 
sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk  and  tried  to  calm  himself, 
though  every  now  and  then  his  wrath  blazed  up 
against  the  high-handed  proceedings  of  Captain 
Shearpole.  He  determined  that  once  back  in  New 
York  he  would  bring  that  individual  to  book  for 
the  outrage  put  upon  him,  even  if  it  took  every 
dollar  he  possessed.  Angry  men  are  apt  to  build 
the  Castle  of  Revenge  high  and  without  regard  to 
cost;  but  Wentworth  meant  it,  though  he  did  not 
dream  how  far  Shearpole's  act  would  sink  into 
insignificance  in  the  future. 

But  just  then  it  was  a  dominating  influence.     To 


182  THE   RED  PAPER 

Wentworth  it  was  now  clear  that  his  detention  in 
his  cabin  was  a  prearranged  plan  to  prevent  his 
being  on  deck  and  protesting  when  Bagshot  went 
ashore.  Justice  had  not  entered  into  the  matter 
and  the  animus  was  plain:  Bagshot  was  afraid  of 
him  and  had  enlisted  the  captain  in  his  behalf,  the 
latter  trumping  up  a  lame  excuse  to  hold  him;  doubt 
less  he  would  be  freed  as  soon  as  the  boat  left  the 
ship. 

But  then  it  would  be  too  late!  Was  there  no  way 
out?  There  must  be!  A  fire  must  be  met  with  fire 
when  all  other  modes  of  protection  are  gone.  Went 
worth  sat  himself  down  to  dispassionate  thought. 

And  presently  he  hit  upon  an  idea  of  escape — an 
escape  which  might  allow  him  to  carry  out  his  original 
intention,  though  he  rather  quailed  at  the  necessity 
it  involved.  It  came  to  him  like  a  flash;  it  would 
be  his  only  and  last  chance.  If  Bagshot  went  ashore 
without  him  he  might  as  well  throw  up  his  hands, 
and  John  Wentworth,  for  all  his  debonair  nature, 
was  not  one  to  admit  defeat  until  it  was  unques 
tionable. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes 
after  nine  o'clock,  and  he  had  loads  of  time  to  spare 
for  his  purpose;  the  boat  would  not  go  until  eleven. 
He  set  about  making  his  preparations  silently,  and, 
when  these  were  completed,  calmly  lay  down  in  his 
bunk. 

At  quarter  past  ten  he  got  up,  relighted  his  lamp, 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  183 

and  began  furthering  his  plan  by  knocking  on  the 
locked  door.  The  immediate  answer  from  the  man 
outside  showed  that  the  guard's  vigilence  had  not 
relaxed.  "What  do  you  want,  sir,"  was  the  re 
spectful  inquiry. 

"I  wish  something  to  drink.  It  is  hell  in  here! 
Get  anything  you  can." 

"Can't  think  of  it,  sir." 

"Why  not?  Am  I  ordered  to  be  famished?  I'll 
pay  you  well." 

"An'  you  wont  break  out  if  I  go  for  ye?" 

"What  would  be  the  use?"  returned  Wentworth. 
"No,  I  wont  break  out,  nor  try  to.  I'll  swear  to  be 
here  when  you  come  back.  Unlock  the  door  and 
I'll  give  you  the  money." 

The  man  outside  mumbled,  but  the  temptation 
was  too  great.  The  door  was  unlocked  and  through 
the  little  opening  made  a  bill  was  passed  out;  then 
the  door  was  locked  again.  Wentworth's  pulse 
began  to  rise  as  he  heard  the  man  go  down  the  pas 
sage;  he  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief;  he  had  feared 
absolute  refusal. 

Presently  the  guard  appeared,  bringing  with  him  a 
bottle  of  champagne  and  a  glass  on  a  tray.  He 
entered,  locking  the  door  after  him  but  leaving  the 
key  in  its  place,  then  he  set  the  tray  on  the  locker. 

"Glad  to  see  you  be  calmin'  down,  sir,"  he  said. 
"I  make  no  doubt  that  the  old  man  will  let  up  on 
you  after  a  night's  sleep." 


184  THE   RED  PAPER 

"Like  as  not,"  returned  Wentworth.  His  parole 
was  over;  he  might  have  run  out  then,  and  with 
honor,  but  the  hue  and  cry  which  would  arise  after 
him  made  such  a  proceeding  foolhardy.  "Keep  the 
change,  my  lad,"  he  said  to  the  man,  who  was  finger 
ing  a  handful  of  silver.  "I  find  you  a  chap  who 
obeys  orders — obeys  them  strictly.  One  cannot 
be  blamed  for  looking  after  their  own  interests, 
can  they?" 

"Xo,  sir.  That's  what!  Now  I  couldn't  ha' 
blamed  you  if  you  had  cut  up  rough." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  the  young 
man,  taking  a  deep  breath.  "Pull  that  cork  for  me, 
will  you?  And  you  will  join  me?" 

"Sure,  sir!"  said  the  man,  with  alacrity  taking 
up  the  bottle. 

"And  I  kept  my  promise  to  you,  you  see!  I  am 
here?" 

"Thank   you,  sir.     Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I  am  going  now.     Good-night." 

He  stepped  toward  the  door.  As  he  made  the 
latter  move,  the  guard,  his  hands  trammeled  by  the 
bottle,  sprang  for  him,  but  as  this  was  just  what 
the  young  man  looked  for,  he  was  prepared.  Turn 
ing  in  time  to  meet  him,  he  landed  a  straight  shoulder 
blow  squarely  between  the  man's  eyes,  and  the 
fellow  went  down  without  a  sound. 

Then  Wentworth  hurried.  Locking  the  door,  he 
made  a  gag  of  a  towel  and  stuffed  into  the  mouth  of 


BAGSHOT'S   FIRST   MOVE  185 

the  fallen  man,  binding  it  in  place  with  another 
towel.  He  quickly  followed  this  up  by  tying  his 
victim's  hands  and  feet  with  the  sheet  he  had  torn 
in  strips,  and  being  sure  the  sailor  was  secure,  he 
walked  out  of  the  room,  locking  the  door  behind  him 
and  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket.  In  a  moment 
he  was  on  deck  concealed  by  a  deep  shadow. 


CHAPTER  XV 
CHECK 

'VERYTHING  was  very  quiet.  Two  or  three 
passengers  were  seated  in  their  chairs  enjoy 
ing  the  warm  air,  the  rest  being  below  gath 
ering  their  belongings  to  be  prepared  for  an  early 
landing  in  the  morning.  Wentworth  made  his  way 
amidships  and  took  station  on  the  starboard  side  of 
the  vessel,  but  well  out  of  sight  of  the  casual  passer. 
Forward  the  anchor-light  glowed,  repeated  on 
every  hand  from  the  ships  about  the  Lone  Star,  but 
the  anchor- watch  was  the  only  figure  he  could  see, 
the  man  moving  across  the  steamer  on  his  walk  on 
the  elevated  forecastle.  From  his  point  of  vantage 
Wentworth  marked  that  the  side-steps  had  been 
shipped  into  place.  He  had  not  waited  long  when 
some  sailors,  directed  by  an  officer,  lowered  the 
quarter-boat,  which  was  taken  to  the  steps,  and 
two  men  came  up  from  her,  disappearing  forward. 
He  waited  until  they  had  gone,  then  lounged  care 
lessly  to  the  side  and  looked  over.  He  had  hoped  to 

find  the  boat  empty,  but  saw  that  in  it  was  a  negro 

186 


CHECK  187 

sailor  holding  it  off  from  the  steamer's  side  with  a 
boat-hook.  He  must  take  some  risk;  here  was  his 
best  chance.  Going  easily  down  the  steps  he  ac 
costed  the  negro,  speaking  low. 

"This  is  the  boat  that  is  to  take  a  party  ashore, 
I  believe." 

"Yaas,  sah." 

"Well,  I  wish  to  go  in  her." 

"I  dunno,  sah;  I'll—" 

"Hush!     There's  a  lady  going?" 

"Yaas,  sah,  an'  two  gemmen. " 

"That's  right.  Here,  take  this.  It's  the  lady— 
you  understand?" 

The  negro  hesitated  as  he  felt  the  crispness  of  the 
bill  John  thrust  into  his  hand.  Then  he  chuckled, 
his  teeth  showing  white  in  the  starlight. 

"Guess  I  kin  fix  it,  sah!  Thankee,  sah!  Yo' 
jes'  lie  low  forward  an'  nobody  won't  see  you.  I's 
de  bowman,  sah.  Hurry,  sah;  here  comes  de  crew! 
I  fix  it.  Wish  yo'  luck,  sah." 

Wentworth  scrambled  forward  over  the  thwarts, 
whisking  off  his  hat  that  it  might  not  make  him 
conspicuous,  and  crouched  close  to  the  stem  of  the 
commodious  craft.  Four  men  came  down  the  steps; 
for  a  moment  the  negro  whispered  to  them,  then  they 
took  their  places,  laughing  among  themselves.  A 
few  moments  later  an  officer  followed;  after  that  was 
a  wait. 

The    passing    time    seemed    hours.     Wentworth's 


188  THE   RED  PAPER 

undignified  position  was  bearing  hard  on  him,  and 
he  recognized  how  foolish  he  had  been  in  exposing 
his  hand  to  Bagshot.  If  he  were  discovered  now 
he  had  little  doubt  that  more  than  his  dignity  would 
suffer;  the  man  in  his  cabin  would  be  found,  and 
that  would  mean  irons,  and  with  some  show  of 
justice.  Why  had  he  not  bettered  his  chances  by 
pretending  to  fall  in  with  Bagshot's  wishes  as  ex 
pressed  in  his  last  interview?  Why  had  he  not 
compromised — and  bided  his  time? 

The  sea  heaved  softly.  The  gulf-wind  had  fallen 
to  less  than  a  breath.  A  mile  away  lay  the  city 
seemingly  afloat  on  the  water.  Presently  there  was 
the  sound  of  footsteps  clearly  heard  through  the 
otherwise  absolute  silence,  and  then  the  light  rustle 
of  a  skirt.  A  few  words  were  spoken,  then  came 
footfalls  on  the  stairs  and  the  frail  craft  tipped  as 
the  passengers  came  aboard.  Then  there  was  a 
rattling  of  falling  oars,  an  order,  a  swish  of  water 
and  the  boat  left  the  steamer's  side.  As  it  got  under 
way  plainly  came  a  voice  from  the  deck: 

"Good-night  and  good  luck."  It  was  the  voice 
of  Captain  Shearpole. 

Undoubtedly  the  negro  bowman  had  explained 
the  situation  to  his  fellows,  but  there  was  no  evidence 
that  the  stowaway's  presence  was  known  as  the 
boat  moved  rapidly  shoreward.  When  it  was  well 
away  from  the  vessel  the  prostrate  man,  half  under 
the  forward  thwart,  breathed  freely.  He  now  had 


CHECK  189 

little  fear  for  the  future,  and  he  even  raised  his  head 
that  he  might  look  aft  under  the  arms  of  the  swaying 
crew.  Among  the  passengers  not  a  word  was  spoken 
until  the  loaded  boat  had  rounded  the  end  of  the 
city  and  was  in  the  bayou  behind  it.  Then  it  was 
that  Wentworth  heard  Bagshot's  voice  as  he  spoke 
to  the  officer  in  command. 

"Our  train  does  not  go  until  one-thirty,  Mr. 
Pierce.  It  is  now  about  half  past  eleven.  If  you 
are  not  pressed  for  time,  come  up  to  the  hotel  with 
us.  I  will  show  you  I  appreciate  the  trouble  you 
have  taken." 

"Don't  mention  the  trouble,  sir." 

"But  I  feel  it;  we  all  feel  it!  Did— er— did  the 
captain  tell  you  what  he  did  with  that  impudent 
party?" 

"Has  him  under  lock  and  key,  I  understand.  He 
narrowly  escaped  being  ironed. " 

"Ah!     Tamed  him,  hey?" 

"I  believe  so.  I  heard  little.  Who  is  he?  What 
did  he  do?" 

"Excuse  me,  sir;  but  it  is  a  delicate  subject  to 
mention — before  a  lady.  I  will  tell  you  later.  You 
will  come  with  us?" 

"Thanks.     I  don't  mind — for  half  an  hour." 

A  moment  after  the  boat  swept  to  the  landing 
stage  with  its  steps  leading  to  the  level  above.  It 
took  but  a  few  minutes  for  the  passengers  to  disem 
bark,  the  officer  following  after  telling  his  men  to 


190  THE   RED  PAPER 

await  his  return.  As  the  party  got  well  away  the 
negro  turned  and  touched  Wentworth,  who  had 
curled  into  the  smallest  compass  possible  for  one 
of  his  figure. 

"Now's  yo'  chance,  sah!  Coast  all  clear!  Slick  as  a 
whistle,  that  was!  I'd  resk  it  fo'  a  gal  any  time!" 

He  laughed  openly,  his  ivories  gleaming.  Went 
worth  slipped  another  bill  into  the  man's  hand. 
"Many  thanks  to  you.  Divide  that  among  the  rest," 
he  said,  and  jumping  across  the  float  he  ran  up  the 
steps. 

But  the  steps  were  slippery,  and  in  his  haste  he 
missed  his  footing,  barely  escaping  a  fall,  his  coat 
catching  on  the  staple  of  an  unseen  mooring-ring 
driven  into  the  sea-wall.  Recovering  himself  he 
tore  loose  his  coat  and  ran  up  in  time  to  see  the  ob 
jects  of  his  chase  going  across  the  broad  esplanade. 

In  the  comparative  desertion  of  the  shipping-front 
it  was  easy  to  keep  the  party  in  sight,  and  he  fol 
lowed  them  among  the  piles  of  recently  discharged 
cargoes,  and  past  the  now  gloomy  warehouses,  until 
they  came  to  the  hotel  and  entered. 

But  Wentworth  did  not  go  in  after  them.  He 
passed  on,  inquiring  his  way  to  the  depot.  It  was 
not  a  long  walk.  At  that  hour  the  waiting-room 
was  empty  and  the  ticket  window  closed,  but  a 
time-table  on  the  wall  showed  him  there  was  a  train 
bound  west  at  one-thirty.  He  was  satisfied,  though 
he  hardly  knew,  why,  except  that  he  now  had  time 


CHECK  191 

to  do  what  he  wished;  and  pushing  straight  to  his 
object  he  at  once  hunted  up  the  police  head 
quarters. 

The  man  dozing  at  his  desk  in  the  palace  of  justice 
opened  wide  his  eves  as  he  took  in  the  character 
of  his  visitor,  and  in  answer  to  the  question  if  a 
telegram  relating  to  the  arrest  of  a  criminal  from 
New  York  had  been  received,  replied  that  he  thought 
not — he  would  look  up  the  record.  It  took  him 
some  time  to  do  this,  with  the  result  that  he  dis 
covered  that  no  requisition  for  the  arrest  of  anyone 
for  any  crime  had  been  sent  from  New  York. 

"Not  within  a  week?"  asked  Wentworth,  a  feel 
ing  of  total  defeat  stealing  over  him. 

"Not  within  two  months,  sir.  The  crooks  give 
us  a  wide  berth,  now-a-days.  What's  the  trouble?" 

"And  you  would  make  no  arrest  on  my  affi 
davit"? 

"Crime  committed  here?" 

"No." 

"Then  not  without  a  warrant,  sir — or  unless  you 
are  an  officer.  Don't  you  see  how  people  with  a 
petty  spite  might  make  an  instrument  of  the  police, 
if  that  were  possible?  I  wil!  do  all  I  can  for  }ou 
but  you  had  better  take  your  case  before  a  jud-e 
to-morrow,  or  go  to  the  district  attorney." 

"It  will  then  be  too  late." 

"Is  it.  a  personal  matter  with  you?  that,  is,  havr 
you  had  trouble  with  the  er  —so-called  criminal?" 


192  THE   RED    PAPER 


The  official  shook  his  shoulders.  "I  reckon  I 
can  see  through  a  ladder.  No,  Mister,  I  don't  find 
I  can  act.  Good-night,  sir." 

The  man  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  settled  him 
self  to  read.  Wentworth  turned  away  more  in  self- 
disgust  than  in  anger.  There  would  be  but  little 
use  in  explaining  the  situation;  he  knew  that  no 
steps  could  be  taken  on  his  bare  word.  He  had 
a  weak  case.  He  had  depended  upon  Bunsen, 
and  Bunsen  had  gone  back  on  him.  He  must 
either  think  of  something  else,  or  throw  up  his 
hands. 

And  it  did  not  take  him  long  to  decide  what  he 
would  do.  The  magnet  of  desire  pulled  him  strongly. 
He  would  follow  the  girl  for  her  own  sake,  hoping 
to  see  her,  to  get  one  more  word  with  her,  at  least 
to  let  her  know  of  his  escape  and  that  he  would 
be  within  call  if  help  were  needed.  He  was  up  to 
his  neck  now;  he  would  plunge  in  beyond  his  depth 
and  see  what  came  of  it.  In  short,  Wentworth 
made  up  his  mind  to  follow  the  party  to  San  Antonio; 
from  there  he  would  write  to  Harper,  and  tele 
graph  for  money  as  his  finances  would  be  too  low 
to  permit  of  his  traveling  further — even  too  low  to 
allow  his  return  to  New  York.  He  settled  this  much 
in  his  walk  back  to  the  depot,  and  again  there  he 
took  his  station  outside  and  at  a  point  from  which 
he  could  see  anyone  who  entered, 


CHECK  193 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  He  saw  the  trio  drive 
up  in  a  public  hack,  and  saw  Bagshot  buy  the  tickets. 
There  was  now  a  sprinkling  of  waiting  passengers 
but  no  great  throng.  The  girl  and  Planet  stood 
on  the  platform  until  Bagshot  joined  them.  Went- 
worth  watched  the  three  as  they  started  to  go  aboard 
the  newly  made  up  train  lying  on  the  main  track, 
its  locomotive  sending  a  plume  of  steam  far  up  into 
the  windless  air.  Then  he  entered  the  station  by 
a  rear  door  and  went  up  to  the  ticket  window. 

"To  San  Antonio,"  he  said.  "Can  I  get  a 
sleeper?" 

"Obtain  sleeping  accommodations  on  the  train, 
sir.  There's  loads  of  room,"  was  the  answer,  as  the 
tickets  were  pushed  out.  "Seven  fifty,  sir." 

Wentworth  put  his  hand  in  his  breast  pocket  but 
drew  it  out  as  if  stung.  His  wallet  was  gone.  In  his 
bewilderment  he  went  over  his  clothing  in  the  wild 
way  one  does  under  like  circumstances,  only  to  dis 
cover  that  he  had  not  misplaced  it. 

For  a  moment  he  thought  he  had  been  robbed,  then 
quickly  recollected  that  he  had  been  near  no  one 
who  would  rob  him  since  he  had  the  wallet  in  his  hand 
when  he  bribed  the  negro  to  let  him  enter  the  boat. 
But  there  was  the  fact;  his  wallet,  with  over  two 
hundred  dollars  in  it,  was  gone.  The  agent  looked 
at  him  sharply. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  have  lost  or  misplaced  my  pocketbook/'  said 


194  THE   RED   PAPER 

John,  gathering  his  wits.  "I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to 
wait  until  to-morrow." 

It  was  a  tcrriffic  blow.  He  turned  from  the  win 
dow,  his  heart  thumping  as  he  realized  that  his  plans 
had  received  a  stunning  reversal;  moreover,  that 
he  was  two  thousand  miles  from  home,  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  dead  broke,  and  that  the  man  he 
hated  and  the  girl  he  loved  were  even  then  beyond 
his  reach. 

At  that  moment  the  cry  of  "All  aboard!"  sounded 
from  without.  Something  like  desperation  seized 
Wentworth.  At  all  events  his  next  act  was  without 
thought.  Running  from  the  depot  he  caught  sight 
of  Miss  Merridale  entering  a  car,  Bagshot  and  Planet 
being  close  behind  her,  both  carrying  valises.  Dash 
ing  past  the  guard  at  the  gate  he  ran  to  the  forward 
end  of  the  car  and  jumped  aboard,  entering  and  walk 
ing  down  the  passage  just  as  the  party  he  dogged 
were  taking  seats  in  the  almost  empty  Pullman. 

At  that  moment  the  train  began  to  move 

It  was  plain  that  neither  Miss  Merridale  nor 
Planet  took  any  notice  of  the  hurrying  man,  the 
latter  being  engaged  in  storing  baggage  while  the 
former  was  adjusting  her  hat  at  a  narrow  mirror 
between  the  windows.  But  Bagshot  saw  him.  With 
something  like  an  exclamation  the  man  dropped  the 
bag  he  \vas  carrying  and  sank  into  the  nearest  chair, 
his  eyes  opening  in  mingled  wonder  and  horror. 
He  had  thought  of  his  persecutor  as  safely  under 


CHECK  195 

lock  and  key  aboard  the  Lone  Star,  yet  here  he  was 
in  the  flesh — if  he  was  flesh.  His  mental  attitude 
was  too  plain  to  be  misread. 

When  Wentworth  boarded  the  train  he  had  but 
a  hazy  idea  of  speaking  a  word  to  the  girl  and  hurling 
defiance  at  her  uncle,  but  as  he  saw  the  effect  his 
mere  presence  had  created  on  the  latter,  and  realized 
the  train  was  drawing  from  the  station,  he  changed 
his  tactics.  There  was  no  time  for  words.  With 
out  halting  he  raised  his  hand  and  pointed  a  menacing 
finger  at  the  fairly  frightened  Bagshot,  but  he  did 
not  speak  to  him;  the  train  was  gathering  speed. 
He  passed  on,  reaching  the  rear  platform  as  the 
negro  porter  was  closing  the  vestibule,  and  catching 
the  man  by  the  arm,  he  dragged  him  around,  pulled 
open  the  door,  and  swung  himself  to  the  ground. 
Then  he  stood  and  looked  at  the  lights  of  the  receding 
train. 

"I  think  I  lied  to  Thomas,"  he  muttered.  "I 
told  him  I  had  Bagshot's  goat,  though  it  now  seems 
that  he  has  mine;  but  if  that  man  don't  believe  in 
spirits  now,  he  never  will." 

A  slow  smile  grew  on  his  face  as  he  recalled  the 
look  of  abject  terror  on  his  enemy's  countenance, 
then  the  smile  died.  He  came  back  to  the  present 
and  began  to  take  thought  of  his  immediate  necessities. 

He  now  went  systematically  through  his  pockets, 
without  finding  the  missing  wallet.  He  did  find 
some  small  bills  he  had  thrust  into  his  vest-pocket, 


196  THE   RED  PAPER 

together  with  some  loose  change,  but  the  whole 
would  not  have  paid  his  fare  to  San  Antonio;  the 
amount  was  exactly  six  dollars  and  eighty  cents — 
a  small  capital  for  one  so  far  from  home.  He  had 
not  even  a  check-book  with  him. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  catching  his  coat  on 
something  as  he  came  ashore.  Undoubtedly  the 
loss  had  occurred  at  that  time — his  wallet  had  been 
jerked  from  his  pocket  and  lay  on  the  steps  if  it  had 
not  fallen  into  the  sea.  He  hurried  to  the  landing 
on  the  jetty.  The  Lone  Stars  quarter-boat  had 
returned  to  the  ship,  and  save  for  the  watchmen 
hovering  around  the  piled  cargoes,  there  appeared 
to  be  no  one  about.  Once  he  was  questioned  by  an 
inquisitive  policeman  to  whom  he  openly  told  the 
story  of  his  loss  and  who  helped  him  in  his  search. 
But  the  search  was  fruitless. 

The  new  difficulty  of  a  lack  of  cash  he  faced  as 
became  a  man  of  his  caste.  Going  to  the  hotel 
which  he  had  seen  Bagshot  enter,  he  asked  for  a 
room  for  the  night,  paying  for  it  from  his  small 
fund;  then  he  went  to  bed.  But  not  to  sleep;  his 
brain  was  too  busy  for  that,  his  disappointment  too 
keen.  For  he  saw  he  must  give  up  his  chase.  It 
was  hopeless.  Circumstances  had  been  against  him 
from  the  first,  and  this  culminating  disaster  settled 
it.  Bagshot  was  lost  for  good,  or,  if  he  was  captured 
at  all,  it  must  be  in  the  indefinite  future;  and  he 
was  a  man,  who,  given  time  to  provide  against  con- 


CHECK  197 

tingencies,  would  make  his  capture  hard  if  not  im 
possible. 

And  the  girl?  It  was  true  that  she  had  promised 
to  write  to  him.  But  where?  To  New  York,  of 
course;  with  her  uncle's  latest  move  she  must  have 
given  up  expecting  further  active  service  from  him. 
As  for  the  detective,  sober  thought  convinced  Went- 
worth  that  he  could  not  have  been  faithless;  there 
must  have  been  some  hitch  in  the  law;  perhaps 
his  own  testimony  had  been  demanded.  Of  the 
real  trouble  the  wakeful  young  man  did  not  even 
guess;  he  only  knew  that  his  every  plan  had  mis 
carried. 

These  were  bitter  thoughts  for  Wentworth,  who 
had  hoped  to  satisfy  justice,  vengeance  and  love. 
In  the  morning  he  went  to  the  nearest  telegraph 
office  and  sent  a  message  to  Harper.  It  was  all 
there  was  to  do. 

Paper  stolen.  Chased  him  Gaheston.  Lost  him. 
Broke.  Wire  money.  Gaheston  Hotel.  Jack. 

The  message  sent,  he  determined  to  throw  him 
self  on  the  mercy  of  the  hotel  proprietor,  and  that 
failing,  borrow  enough  of  Van  Buskirk  to  tide  him 
over.  But  on  hearing  the  story  of  his  loss  the  pro 
prietor  took  him  to  his  heart  at  once.  He  was  a 
reader  of  character,  he  said,  and  knew  a  gentleman 
when  he  saw  one.  Wentworth  might  live  at  the 
"Galveston"  a  week  or  a  month  or  longer;  he 


198  THE   RED  PAPER 

was  not   to  worry  on    the   score   of   deferred   pay 
ment. 

It  was  the  New  Yorker's  first  bit  of  luck.  With 
a  lightened  heart  though  not  a  joyous  one  he  left 
the  proprietor's  presence,  not  knowing  that  the  tide 
of  misfortune  had  ebbed  to  its  lowest  and  had  now 
turned  in  his  favor.  But  he  did  not  see  into  the 
future — which  was  well  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
DEPUTY  SHERIFF  HARPER 

IT    was    twenty- four    hours    before    Wentworth 
received  an  answer   to  his   message.     He  had 
called  twice  at  the  office  with  negative  results, 
but  on  the  third  time  a  telegram  was  awaiting  him. 
It  caused  him  to  be  mildly  elated,  at  the  same  time 
made  him  wonder  what  had  happened. 

Have  sent  two  hundred  by  wire.  Stay  where  you 
are.  Am  coming.  Have  news. 

Harper. 

There  was  some  delay  before  the  office  could  furnish 
him  with  the  money,  but  with  that  in  his  pocket  he 
felt  more  independent.  But  what  did  Harper  mean? 
It  was  four  days  before  he  found  out.  And  in  those 
four  days  he  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  low- 
lying  city,  and  walked  for  hours  along  its  miles  of 
fawn-colored  and  perfect  beach.  Once  he  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  Captain  Shearpole  on  the  street, 
and  he  laughed  in  that  gentleman's  face,  well  knowing 
that  he  would  not  be  held  accountable  for  the  assault 
made  on  the  sailor;  he  knew  as  well  as  he  knew 

199 


200  THE   RED  PAPER 

anything  that  the  captain  had  gone  far  beyond  his 
authority.  And  Shearpole  only  scowled  as  he  saw 
the  young  man. 

At  length  Harper  arrived,  hot  and  dirty  but  full 
of  a  contageous  enthusiasm.  After  a  characteristic 
greeting  the  two  went  at  once  into  executive  session 
in  Wentworth's  room.  Up  to  that  time  Harper  had 
been  exasperatingly  non-committal. 

"And  now  tell  me  where  they  have  gone,"  were 
his  first  words,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and 
lighted  a  cigar,  ignoring  the  grime  of  travel  still 
upon  him. 

"'To  San  Antonio.  They  stop  at  the  Menger 
Hotel,  the  lady  says,  and  I  have  reason  to  think  she 
tells  the  truth.  Don't  you  care  to  hear  all  that  has 
happened  to  me?" 

"No,  not  yet — for  I  know  something  of  it.  I  will 
unload  first,  then  it  will  be  your  turn.  They've  gone 
to  San  Antonio,  have  they!  Well,  Bagshot  has 
walked  into  the  trap!  Now  listen.  For  three  or 
four  days  we  were  wild  at  your  disappearance. 
Thomas  told  me  of  the  condition  of  things  at  the 
studio,  and  I  guessed  a  whole  heap — only  I  was 
about  to  look  for  your  body,  as  I  was  mortally  afraid 
of  foul  play — I  have  feared  it  all  along. 

"When  I  found  you  had  been  to  the  bank  I  began 
to  have  hopes.  On  the  fifth  day  Thomas  came  to 
me  with  a  chap  named  Bunsen,  who  had  his  head 
bandaged  up.  Bunsen  told  me  what  had  happened 


DEPUTY    SHERIFF   HARPER          20J 

and  was  sure  you  were  on  the  steamer.  He  had 
met  with  an  accident  just  after  he  left  you;  he  was 
knocked  completely  out,  and  all  his  plans  went 
askew.  But  he  had  the  good  sense  to  hunt  up 
Thomas,  who  had  wit  enough  to  turn  him  over  to 
me.  Good  man,  that  Bunsen!  Together  we  went 
to  work,  the  detective  doing  all  of  his  share,  and  we 
have  kept  the  thing  out  of  the  papers.  But  it  wasn't 
such  an  easy  thing  to  get  a  warrant,  you  being  away. 
Your  telegram  helped  some;  we  got  it  finally,  and 
through  the  pull  exercised  by  our  broken-headed 
friend  I  got  something  for  myself.  My  son,  I  am 
now  sworn  in  as  a  deputy  sheriff  of  the  County  of 
New  York.  It  took  much  persuasion  and  a  little 
of  the  rhyno,  but  I  had  laid  my  plans.  Take  off 
your  hat  to  me,  you  ordinary,  no-account  citizen! 
I  have  the  necessary  papers  with  which  to  rope  our 
Christian  slugger,  for  without  them  we  might  go 
lame  early  in  the  race." 

Wentworth  looked  at  his  friend  in  amazement. 
"What  was  your  crazy  idea  of  becoming  a  deputy 
sheriff?"  he  asked. 

"My  crazy  idea!  To  catch  the  fellow,  of  course! 
We  can't  touch  Planet,  he  being  out  of  the  State. 
That  is,  we  cannot  take  him  for  unproved  robbery, 
but  we  can  hold  him  as  a  suspect  in — in  the  other 
thing!  Here  are  my  plans: 

"I  have  a  letter  to  one  Thorp,  Sheriff  of  Bexar 
County — a  chap  afraid  of  nothing — a  character 


202  THE   RED   PAPER 

something  on  the  order  of  Bunsen.  He  has  been 
a  miner  and  a  cowboy,  and  is  an  all-round  plainsman, 
but  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  It  is  my  notion 
that  Bagshot  intends  to  drop  Miss  Merridale  some 
where,  make  a  bee-line  for  the  mines,  stake  them  out. 
register  the  claim  and  then  skip  into  Mexico  and 
wait  a  spell,  unless  in  the  meantime  the  girl  steals 
the  paper.  But  we  mustn't  depend  upon  her. 

"The  first  thing  is  to  lay  hands  on  Thorp.  I 
can't  act  in  Texas  without  a  Texas  officer!  We  get 
out  to-night  for  San  Antonio.  But  let  me  tell  you," 
said  Harper,  his  face  becoming  set  and  serious,  "I 
am  in  this  thing  to  the  hilt — even  if  it  means  blood. 
Are  you  with  me?" 

Wentworth  looked  astonished  at  the  question. 
"What  on  earth  do  you  suppose  I  am  here  for? 
To  be  frightened  at  a  possible  fight?  Go  as  far  as 
you  like,  and  I'll  follow  wrhen  I  can't  lead." 

"Not  that  I  doubted  you,"  said  Harper,  holding 
out  a  dirty  hand.  "It  was  a  perfunctory  question 
born  of  the  jig- water  we  have  imbibed.  We  will 
catch  Bagshot  ct  al.  if  wre  have  to  follow  them  across 
the  continent.  Now  you  have  my  plan  in  the  raw. 
Let's  hear  your  yarn." 

Wentworth  made  a  full  story  of  his  trip,  omitting 
nothing.  When  he  had  finished  Harper  whistled. 

"I'm  sorry  you  showed  vourself  on  the  train.  He 
will  think  you  arc  still  following  him  and  be  on 
guard.  Let  me  see  the  girl's  note." 


DEPUTY  SHERIFF    HARPER          203 

The  note  was  produced.  Harper  read  it,  and 
lifted  his  eyebrows  as  he  smiled  and  drooped  one 
eyelid. 

"Early  for  congratulations,  isn't  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  idiot?"  returned  Went- 
worth,  feeling  his  color  rise. 

"Oh,  nothing!  Only  when  we  meet  up  with  her 
don't  ask  me  to  play  gooseberry.  It  isn't  my  role. 
On  your  honor,  old  man,  isn't  the  blind  Cupid  mark 
ing  a  broad  trail  for  you?  Hasn't  that  bump  gone 
from  your  head  to  your  heart?  Own  up." 

"Will  you  kindly  try  to  talk  as  if  you  were  sane — 
and  incidentally,  mind  your  own  business?"  was  the 
retort. 

"To  be  sure!  And  do  you  think,  my  poor,  addle- 
pated  benedick,  that  I'm  not  doing  both?  I'm  a 
trifle  selfish  myself.  That  mine  attracts  me  im 
mensely,  else  I  don't  know  as  I  would  have  come  so 
far.  With  your  influence  in  a  certain  quarter  I  might 
get  an  interest  in  it.  I  will  guarantee  to  form  a 
syndicate  and  give  Miss  Merridale  two  million  for 
a  controlling  share,  if  she  is  willing  to  sell.  See  my 
lay?  Nothing  like  having  a  friend  at  court." 

"Quit  your  rot  and  talk  sense,"  returned  Went- 
worth,  his  face  glowing. 

"All  right.  First  I'll  wash,  then  we'll  dine.  After 
that  we'll  take  a  look  at  this  town.  Then  we'll  take 
a  certain  train  for  a  certain  city  where  you  will  see 
a  certain  lady,  and— 


204  THE   RED  PAPER 

Wentworth  threw  a  pillow  at  him.  The  big  fellow 
kissed  his  hand  airily  and  ran,  laughing,  to  his  room. 

San  Antonio  lay  hot  and  still  under  a  sky  like 
Italy's  when  Wentworth  and  Harper  stepped  from 
the  train  the  next  afternoon.  As  a  means  of  precau 
tion  the  two  searched  the  pretty,  red  railroad  station 
in  order  to  be  sure  they  were  not  being  looked  for. 
Then  they  parted. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  big  man,  being 
unknown  to  any  of  the  Bagshot  part}-,  should  go 
straight  and  openly  to  the  Menger  Hotel  where  he 
wou'.d  be  in  touch  with  the  men  he  was  after.  Went 
worth  wrould  be  less  obtrusive  by  taking  quarters 
in  one  of  the  less  prominent  hostleries. 

After  becoming  sure  that  Bagshot  was  still  in 
San  Antonio  the  new  deputy  would  hunt  up  the 
sheriff  of  Bexar  County,  tell  his  story,  show  his 
credentials,  and  trusted  to  have  the  criminals  in 
custody  that  night.  As  soon  as  matters  were  in 
running  order  he  would  report  to  Wentworth,  who 
was  advised  to  keep  himself  from  the  public  eye  as 
much  as  possible. 

And  had  that  gentleman  obeyed  instructions  all 
might  have  gone  as  intended;  but  he  had  no  sooner 
stepped  from  the  automobile  that  took  him  from 
the  station  to  the  Angelus  Hotel  than  he  became 
nervous  and  restless.  His  room  seemed  but  a  suffo 
cating  box  to  him  though  it  was  airy  and  comfortable, 
and  after  putting  himself  in  order  he  ignored  the 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF  HARPER          205 

risk  of  being  seen  by  either  of  his  enemies,  and  in 
spite  of  Harper's  warning  to  keep  off  the  streets, 
sallied  out  to  get  the  air  his  lungs  seemed  to  demand. 
He  figured  that  there  was  not  one  chance  in  ten 
thousand  of  running  upon  either  Planet  or  Bagshot. 

He  had  not  thought  to  walk  toward  the  center 
of  the  city  but  he  soon  lost  sense  of  direction.  In 
his  path  the  ancient  and  modern  appeared  to  be  on 
equal  footing.  The  town,  like  a  young  giant,  was 
shaking  off  the  slumber  of  old  ways  though  not  yet 
fully  awake  to  the  new.  The  seventeenth  century 
here  rubbed  shoulders  with  the  twentieth;  the  man 
tilla  of  the  seriorita.  the  peaked  and  silver-trimmed 
hat  of  the  traditional  Mexican,  the  broad  felt  of 
the  avowed  plainsman,  the  flowery  creation  of  the 
modern  milliner,  and  the  somber  "  Derby  "  of  the 
pushing  generation,  were  all  in  evidence.  The 
spurred  rider  in  his  Mexican  saddle  trotted  in  the 
wake  of  the  automobile,  and  up-to-date  architecture 
threw  its  shadow  over  low,  adobe  structures.  It 
was  a  scene  of  contrasts — the  mixture  of  two  or 
three  centuries,  and  it  was  both  attractive  and 
bewildering  to  Wentworth. 

He  walked  on,  interested  in  all  he  saw,  and  had 
gone  what  he  thought  was  but  a  short  distance  from 
his  hotel  when  he  came  to  a  park-like  opening,  and 
then  he  recognized  his  whereabouts.  He  was  stand 
ing  on  the  edge  of  the  Piaza  of  the  Alamo,  and  he 
knew  he  had  no  business  there. 


206  THE   RED  PAPER 

For  in  front  of  him  were  the  tree-embowered 
grounds  of  the  Menger  Hotel,  while  to  the  south 
stood  the  venerable,  historic  and  dilapidated  convent 
which  gave  the  plaza  its  name.  The  appearance  of 
the  Alamo  was  perfectly  familiar  to  Wentworth, 
who,  in  his  callow,  geography  days,  had  looked  at 
the  picture  of  the  "  Cradle  of  Texas  Independence  " 
and  read  its  tragic  history. 

There  was  no  mistaking  it;  and  it  gave  him  a  sense 
of  satisfaction  to  know  the  ruin  was  being  cared 
for,  as  indicated  by  the  soldier  patrolling  in  front 
of  its  wide  doors.  Only  a  few  years  before  the  trim 
park  had  been  but  a  shadeless,  sun-baked  opening, 
and  the  Alamo  a  store-house  for  hay;  now  modern 
ideas  have  prevailed,  and  the  row  of  buildings  oppo 
site  the  hotel  faces  upon  a  wealth  of  tropical  suc 
culence. 

Though  modernized  in  appearance  to  Wentworth 
there  hung  over  the  whole  city  an  atmosphere  of 
shiftlessness — a  veritable  air  of  yesterday  but  never 
of  to-day.  It  showed  in  the  listlessness  of  those 
moving  on  the  streets,  in  the  lack  of  bustle  to  which 
he  was  used,  to  the  quiet,  for  which  he  was  grateful. 

Though  now  aware  that  he  was  on  forbidden 
ground  the  young  man  was  in  a  very  pleasant  frame 
of  mind.  What  did  it  matter?  He  could  not  be 
seen  from  the  hotel  across  the  park;  the  trees  were 
too  thick.  And  he  had  a  world  of  faith  in  Harper, 
only  regretting  that  necessity  compelled  him  to 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF   HARPER          207 

keep  away  from  active  participation  in  Bagshot's 
capture. 

At  that  moment  his  thoughts  were  turned  to  the 
girl  whose  face  attracted  him  as  the  lode-star  attracts 
the  needle;  and  he  had  just  taken  off  his  hat,  and 
was  fanning  himself  with  it,  when  he  saw  her  emerge 
from  among  the  trees  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  with 
her  head  down  as  if  in  dejection  or  deep  thought, 
walk  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  Alamo.  He 
watched  her  with  an  intensity  of  which  he  was  not 
aware,  until  she  entered  the  dark  portal,  the  patrol 
ling  sentinel  apparently  taking  no  notice  of  her, 
and  then,  in  spite  of  all  reason,  Wentworth  deter 
mined  to  follow  her  and  meet  her  face  to  face,  to 
hear  her  voice,  perhaps  to  take  her  hand.  Up  to 
that  moment  he  had  not  fully  realized  his  mental 
attitude  toward  the  girl,  but  he  did  then;  he  knew 
now,  and  was  hardly  surprised,  and  with  the  awak 
ening  knowledge  he  threw  discretion  to  the  wind. 

And  yet,  not  altogether  the  last.  He  had  sense 
enough  not  to  attempt  to  cross  the  plaza  where  he 
might  be  seen  from  a  dozen  points;  he  was  too  cau 
tious  for  that.  Turning  his  back  on  the  park,  he 
skirted  it  by  a  side  street,  coming  to  it  again  on  its 
lower  end,  and,  hurrying  along,  he  approached  and 
entered  the  old  and  bullet-scarred  building. 

There  was  no  one  who  prevented.  A  man  with  a 
badge  pinned  to  his  flannel  shirt,  a  supplement  to 
the  soldier  outside,  lounged  sleepily  just  inside  the 


208  THE    RED    PAPER 

entrance,  smoking  a  cigarette,  but  neither  lifted  a 
finger  in  question  to  his  entry.  A  peculiar  feeling 
took  possession  of  the  young  man  as  he  found  him 
self  encompassed  by  the  historic  old  walls;  it  was  as 
if  the  climax  of  the  nearly  century  old  conflict  had 
something  to  do  with  himself;  that  here  was  to  be  a 
climax  for  him — a  climax  of  his  hope;  of  fear  he  had 
none. 

The  interior  was  gloomy,  and  Wentworth  soon 
discovered  that  the  lady  had  not  lingered  on  the 
ground  floor.  He  made  no  inquiries,  but  seeing  a 
flight  of  steps  against  the  adobe  wall,  he  went  up. 
As  he  passed  from  behind  two  large  packing  boxes 
and  advanced  into  the  long  room  on  the  second 
floor  he  saw  the  object  of  his  coming  standing  at 
the  sashless  window  gazing  out  on  the  plaza.  With 
a  quick  eye  the  young  man  took  in  the  bullet-marked 
walls  of  the  apartment  and  the  chipped  rafters  over 
head.  Here  the  storm  of  war  had  raged  at  its  height, 
for  he  was  in  the  room  in  which  David  Crockett  had 
died. 

Wentworth  thought  to  take  the  girl  by  surprise, 
but  as  she  heard  his  step  on  the  hollow  floor  she 
turned  and  came  toward  him,  holding  out  her  hand. 

''I  felt  that  you  would  come."  she  said,  smiling 
a  welcome,  though  her  face  showed  a  lack  of  its  usual 
vivacity. 

''Then  you  knew  I  was  in  the  city?'' 

''Not  until  a  few  moments  ago.     But  I  knew  you 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF   HARPER          209 

had  escaped  from  the  steamer  for  Mr.  Bagshot  told 
me  he  saw  your  ghost  on  the  train  before  we  left 
Galveston;  and  he  was  much  upset."  She  laughed 
a  tired  laugh.  "I  felt  it  was  no  ghost,  knowing  your 
ability  to  appear  unexpectedly — and  I  knew  you 
would  follow." 

"And  you  saw  me?" 

"I  was  sitting  under  the  trees.  Yes,  I  saw  you 
standing  over  the  way."  Her  face  was  rosy,  but 
withal  bore  a  troubled  look.  "I  cannot  stay  long," 
she  continued.  "Far  from  being  deserted,  as  I 
once  feared  I  might  be,  I  am  closely  watched.  He 
suspects  I  know  something — suspects  I  have  com 
municated  with  you." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  the  young  man,  continuing 
to  hold  the  slender  fingers  in  his  grasp. 

"I  don't  know.  Away  somewhere,  for  the  day. 
He  is  away  every  day,  coming  back  in  the  evening. 
He  is  ready  to  move  on  the  instant;  he  is  frightened 
and  desperate.  Quite  changed — even  violent  to 
me,  and  either  he  or  Planet  always  keeps  me  in  view. 
Jose  happens  to  be  out  now,  so  I  came — at  some 
risk." 

"Heaven  bless  you  for  coming!"  said  John  fer 
vidly.  "You  will  soon  be  relieved  of  them." 

"Pray  Heaven  so,  but  I  don't  see  how,"  she  said 
wearily,  though  her  breath  quickened  as  she  marked 
the  light  in  Wentworth's  eye,  and  tried  to  draw  her 
hands  from  his. 


210  THE   RED   PAPER 

"What  are  his  plans?"' 

"Last  night  he  told  me  we  were  going  to  Boerne 
to-morrow,  and  outfit  for  the  plains.  As  if  I  did  not 
know  the  reason  he  made  up  a  story  of  an  impossible 
ranch.  His  plan  is  to  take  me  home  to  Kerrsville  and 
then  go  on.  He  has  made  some  arrangement  with 
someone  about  the  mine.  They  are  to  meet  at 
Kerrsville.  That  is  all  I  know.  He  does  not 
trust  me  much.  Oh,  I  wish  it  was  over!  I'll  give  him 
the  paper  and  all  rights.  I  am  sick — sick!" 

She  drew  away  her  hand  and  threw  out  her  arms 
in  a  gesture  of  infinite  despair.  Wcntworth  looked 
at  her  hungrily.  He  thought  nothing  then  of  the 
fatal  paper,  and  for  the  moment  forgot  his  father's 
murderer.  His  soul  was  filled  with  pity  and  desire 
for  this  woman — this  girl  with  her  lovely  figure,  her 
golden  hair,  her  pale  and  appealing  face.  All  he 
had  done  he  felt  he  had  done  for  her.  He  loved  her 
—he  wrould  have  her. 

The  quiet  of  the  place,  the  romance  of  the  sur 
roundings,  the  luxuriousness  of  the  air,  and  his 
past  disappointments  and  reverses  all  contributed 
in  bringing  his  daring  to  a  pitch  which  later  astonished 
him.  He  considered  neither  words  nor  deeds  at 
that  sublime  moment,  but  afterward  he  was  aware 
that  he  had  suddenly  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  on  the  mouth — a  passion  as  strong  as  it 
was  new  swaying  him  beyond  his  own  control. 
She  loosened  herself  from  his  embrace,  with  a 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF    HARPER          211 

low  cry,  her  face  aflame  with  confusion.  "How.  oh, 
how  could  you  do  such  a  thing?"  she  stammered, 
but  there  was  no  anger  in  her  voice  nor  sense  of 
outrage  in  her  attitude.  Wentworth  was  stunned  at 
his  own  temerity.  "God  knows  I  did  not  mean 
disrespect,"  he  said,  his  own  voice  deep  with  pas 
sion.  "I — I  couldn't  help  it.  I  know  I  took  an 

unfair  advantage,  but — but  I  have  one  excuse. 
j ' ' 

She  interrupted  him  there.  She  had  retreated 
toward  the  window  and  the  lover  was  beginning  his 
passionate  appeal  when  the  girl  lifted  her  hand  and 
pointed  through  the  opening.  "Look!  Look!"  she 
cried,  indicating  the  plaza.  "It  is  Jose!  He  is  search 
ing  for  me!  I  come  here  often,  and  he  knows  it. 
Pray  Heaven  he  doeni't  see  you!  Hide — hide — for 
my  sake!  Let  me  go!— -oh,  let  me  go!" 

For  Wentworth,  with  a  lover's  doubt  solved,  had 
embraced  her  again.  "I  will  never  play  the  coward 
for  that  villain!"  he  exclaimed  hotly.  "Tell  me 
you  are  not  offended.'1 

"Offended?  Oh,  he  is  at  the  door!  Please,  please 
let  me  go.  No,  I  am  not  offended." 

"Go,  then,"  said  Wentworth,  as  he  released  her. 
Go  down  and  meet  him,  if  you  feel  you  must.  I 
will  see  you  to-night.  I  will  have  them  both  to 
night.  You  will  wait  for  me?  Promise!" 

"I  promise.  I  promise  anything.  Oh,  cannot  you 
see  it  is  for  you  I  fear?  Be  careful — be  careful!" 


212  THE   RED   PAPER 

She  ran  from  him,  hurrying  across  the  room  to 
the  stairway.  Wentworth  did  not  follow  but  stepped 
to  the  window,  and  with  his  heart  in  his  eyes  watched 
her  go  along  the  edge  of  the  plaza  and  wondered 
why  the  Mexican  had  not  trailed  after  her. 

But  the  Mexican,  though  much  of  a  fool  in  judg 
ment,  was  not  stupid.  He  had  stopped  inside  the 
door  of  the  convent  and  was  chatting,  with  the  air 
of  an  old  acquaintance,  with  the  officer  who  lounged 
there.  As  he  stood  rolling  a  cigarette  Miss  Merri- 
dale  went  out  and  toward  the  hotel  without  as  much 
as  a  look  at  him. 

In  dress  the  man  was  metamorphosed.  He  no 
longer  wore  his  tight-fitting  black  costume,  but  the 
blue  flannel  shirt,  leggings,  and  pointed  sombrero 
he  had  donned  fitted  his  character  and  surroundings. 
It  was  a  free-and-easy  costume. 

He  had  seen  the  girl  pass  him  with  all  her  usual 
hauteur,  but  with  an  agitation  of  face  that  was  un 
usual,  and  his  wits,  made  active  by  the  latent  jealousy 
that  marks  those  of  his  blood,  sought  for  a  cause  for 
the  latter.  There  was  but  one  explanation  which 
appealed  to  him,  and  after  learning  from  the  watch 
man  that  there  was  a  stranger,  evidently  a  North 
erner,  in  the  building,  he  put  two  and  two  together. 
His  dark  face  paled  with  passion,  and  his  black  eyes 
gleamed  like  stilettos. 

He  reasoned  that  without  a  doubt  Wentworth  had 
reached  San  Antonio,  communicated  with  Miss 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF   HARPER          213 

Merridale,  and  made  a  rendezvous  in  the  Alamo. 
And,  as  undoubtedly  as  they  had  met  and  talked, 
just  so  undoubtedly  was  the  pig  Yankee  still  within 
the  walls  of  the  ancient  convent.  "Aha!  That  was 
the  cause  of  her  confusion  and  disdain!  Caramba!" 

He  smoked  rapidly  the  cigarette  he  had  rolled, 
his  white,  even  teeth  set  together  as  he  considered 
what  he  should  do.  And  it  came  to  his  dramatic 
soul  that  there  were  two  things  which  could  be  done, 
and  done  together:  rid  his  patron  and  himself  of 
this  leech  who  would  not  be  shaken  off,  and  free 
himself  of  a  menace  to  his  more  than  half-formed 
dream  of  wealth  and  happiness.  Openly  he  had 
never  approached  the  girl  on  the  subject  of  love,  but 
his  Latin  nature  was  patient,  albeit  it  was  hot.  He 
had  no  doubt  of  his  ultimate  success.  Was  not  her 
uncle  in  his  favor? 

As  the  solution  of  the  girl's  agitated  appearance 
came  to  him  with  the  force  of  certainty,  he  dashed 
his  cigarette  to  the  ground  with  a  Spanish  oath, 
then  bent  and  talked  earnestly  and  rapidly  to  the 
officer.  Finally  he  passed  something  into  the  man's 
hand.  The  watchman  nodded,  smiled  and  grunted, 
and  Planet,  his  own  face  bearing  a  mirthless  grin, 
turned  into  the  depths  of  the  convent.  When  he 
reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  took  a  knife  from 
his  pocket  and  unclasped  its  long  blade.  There  was 
the  sinuosity  of  a  prowling  cat  to  his  lithe  figure  as 
he  crept  noiselessly  up  the  steps.  His  conscience 


214  THE   RED  PAPER 

did  not  trouble  him  over  his  contemplated  act 
though  some  thoughts  of  policy  entered  his  excited 
brain.  But  had  not  his  patron  told  him  while  on 
board  the  steamer  that  he  might  do  as  he  wished 
with  Wentworth  on  land?  Would  not  Bagshot 
thank  him  for  removing  a  persistent  menace? 

Slowly  and  silently  he  reached  the  floor  above, 
sneaked  past  the  packing  boxes  and  through  the  arch 
bisecting  the  room,  and  saw  his  intended  victim. 
There  was  no  mistaking  him,  for  Wentworth  stood 
with  his  hands  on  the  ragged  sill,  his  gaze  turned 
outward,  his  back  toward  the  stairs,  and  there 
was  none  but  himself  and  his  would-be  assassin  on 
that  floor.  He  was  easily  recognizable  to  Planet. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  unsuspecting  man  that 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  the  window  where  he 
stood  there  wras  considerable  distance  of  clear  space. 
He  had  seen  the  girl  go  along  the  plaza  until  she  was 
lost  among  the  trees,  and  was  wondering  why  the 
Mexican  had  not  followed  her  when  he  heard  from 
behind  him  the  creaking  of  the  ancient  board  floor. 
He  turned  around  more  in  curiosity  than  alarm  but 
in  time  to  see  one  of  the  objects  of  his  thoughts 
sneaking  toward  him  with  a  bared  knife  in  his  hand. 

As  the  eyes  of  the  two  flashed  a  mutual  recognition 
Planet  let  out  a  Spanish  oath  and  his  crouched  figure 
straightened  as  he  increased  his  speed,  stealth  now 
being  useless  and  deception  equally  out  of  the  question. 
His  purpose  was  plain,  and  he  must  now  fight  it  out. 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF  HARPER          215 

Midway  on  the  floor  he  was  met  by  his  opponent. 
Wentworth  was  entirely  unarmed,  but  he  hardly 
needed  more  weapons  than  nature  had  given  him. 
His  spirit  was  buoyed  by  a  great  happiness,  and  the 
sight  of  his  sneaking  enemy  filled  him  with  an  un 
holy  joy.  He  had  not  been  an  athlete  for  nothing, 
and  he  read  the  man  and  his  purpose  as  though 
Planet's  brain  had  been  an  open  book.  The  two 
clinched  on  the  instant,  but  before  the  knife  had 
descended  Wentworth  caught  the  wrist  of  the  hand 
holding  it,  and  twisting  the  weapon  from  Planet's 
grasp,  flung  it  to  the  floor.  So  far  the  defense  had 
been  easy,  and  the  hot-brained  Mexican  was  no 
match,  mentally  or  physically,  for  his  cooler  antago 
nist.  As  he  felt  himself  disarmed  and  saw  the  hope 
lessness  of  escape,  in  a  state  of  desperation  he  did 
what  he  had  done  once  before:  grappled  Wentworth 
about  the  body  in  an  endeavor  to  throw  him,  at  the 
same  time  setting  up  a  wild  shout  of  terror  that 
echoed  through  the  hollow  structure  and  aroused 
those  at  the  door. 

But  the  American  was  silent  as  he  tore  at  the 
clinging  arms  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  loose  at  once 
their  snake-like  grasp,  then  desisting,  again  got  a 
grip  on  the  lean  throat  when  the  Mexican,  to  save 
himself,  let  go  his  hold.  Wentworth  threw  him  to 
the  floor  with  a  crash.  He  could  not  kill  him  in  cold 
blood.  The  law  was  enough  for  him,  and  here  was 
one  of  his  birds  already  captured. 


216  THE    RED   PAPER 

He  stepped  to  where  the  knife  had  fallen  and 
picked  it  up  in  order  to  insure  his  own  safety,  and 
at  that  moment  the  watchman  and  the  man  in 
uniform  came  bounding  up  the  stairs.  The  former, 
ignoring  the  prostrate  Mexican,  jumped  for  Went- 
worth  and  took  the  knife  from  him,  the  young  man 
making  no  effort  to  resist.  Planet  struggled  to  his 
feet,  his  face  livid  from  passion  and  defeat,  but  in 
a  flash  his  wily  brain  caught  the  advantage  of  his 
position.  Pointing  to  his  enemy,  he  screamed: 

" Arrest  hecm!  He  would  kill  me!  He  had  me 
by  the  thr-roat!  He  had  a  daggair!" 

"He's  a  liar!"  said  Wentworth,  turning  to  the 
officer  who  held  him  by  the  shoulder.  "He  sneaked 
up  behind  me  and  I  took  the  knife  away  from  him." 

"N— no!  eet  is  a  lie!"  shouted  Planet.  "Ask 
heem  if  he  not  hate  me.  Ask  heem  if  he  not  follow 
me  from  New  Yor-rk.  I  hear  he  was  in  these  pla-ace 
—I  come  up  to  mak  peace  with  heem.  But  he 
mur-r-rder  me — he  try!  Tak  heem  to  the  jail!  I 
mak  char-r-rge  against  heem!" 

Wentworth  caught  the  situation  and  grew  hot 
as  he  began  to  explain,  but  the  officer  cut  him  short. 

"I  don't  care  to  know  nothin'  about  the  rights 
of  this  muss,  sir!  I  didn't  see  it.  All  I  know  is 
I  see  you  standin'  over  that  man  with  a  knife  in 
your  fist,  and  him  yellin'  for  help.  You  had  better 
come  along  with  me.  You  can  explain  when  you 
get  to  the  station.  And  you'll  do  well  to  come 


DEPUTY    SHERIFF   HARPER          217 

gentle  else  you'll  come  the  other  way,  sir.  You 
may  talk  to  the  judge  later." 

"I  am  perfectly  willing  to  go  with  you,"  returned 
Wentworth.  "You  will  have  no  trouble  with  me, 
but  I  insist  on  the  arrest  of  that  man  who  attempted 
to  murder  me.  I  have  that  charge  to  make  against 
him." 

"Make  what  charge  you  like,"  was  the  brilliant 
rejoinder,  "but  I  didn't  see  him  doin'  anything.  He 
wa'n't  armed,  like  you  was.  And  he'll  show  up 
all  right;  take  my  word  for  it.  Anyhow,  he's  gone 
now.  I'll  get  him  later. " 

For  with  the  suggestion  of  his  possible  detention 
Planet  had  slipped  past  the  figurehead  of  a  soldier, 
that  ornamental  guardian  of  the  portal  not  having 
spoken  a  word  or  lifted  a  hand,  and  disappeared  down 
stairs;  and  a  moment  later  Wentworth,  caught  by 
the  arm  of  Law,  if  not  of  Justice,  was  marched  off. 

The  mere  fact  of  his  arrest  did  not  greatly  trouble 
him.  It  certainly  was  an  inconvenience,  but  it 
would  hardly  be  more  as  he  would  soon  see  the 
sheriff,  and  send  for  Harper.  The  thing  that  vexed 
him  most  was  the  neat  way  in  which  Planet  had 
turned  the  tables  on  him,  and  the  dogberrian  bril 
liancy  of  the  officer  who  had  taken  the  Mexican's 
word  for  everything.  Not  until  later  did  it  strike 
him  that  there  might  be  a  friendship  or  at  least  an 
understanding  between  the  two.  However,  it  would 
make  little  difference  in  the  end  as  both  Bagshot  and 


218  THE   RED   PAPER 

Planet  would  be  arrested  that  night.  After  that 
there  would  be  an  open  vista  of  bliss  which  would 
well  repay  him  for  all  he  had  gone  through. 

There  was  no  public  attention,  and  consequently 
no  degradation,  on  the  way  to  the  police  station. 
The  prisoner  was  ushered  into  a  barren  apartment 
blue  with  cigarette  smoke,  and  there  a  man  behind 
a  railed  desk  asked  his  name,  address  and  business, 
smoking  carelessly  the  while,  and  with  equal  care 
lessness  took  down  the  charge  of  assault  with  intent 
to  kill,  as  given  by  his  captor. 

At  this  plain  miscarriage  of  justice  Wentworth 
began  to  grow  warm,  but  knowing  the  futility  of 
protesting,  asked  if  he  might  bail  himself  with  the 
money  he  had.  The  lieutenant  grinned.  No,  he 
could  not.  Then  Wentworth  demanded  to  see  the 
sheriff,  unfortunately  not  mentioning  that  party's 
name,  and  \vas  bruskly  informed  that  the  sheriff 
was  out  of  town,  and  wouldn't  have  seen  him,  any 
how.  His  final  request  that  he  might  send  word 
to  a  friend  was  granted,  and  on  a  scrap  of  paper 
Wentworth  wrote  a  note  to  Harper  asking  him  to 
come  at  once  to  the  jail,  and  passed  the  paper  and  a 
bill  into  the  hands  of  the  watchman. 

After  that  he  was  led  away  to  a  dingy  room  some 
where  in  the  rear.  It  was  hot  and  close  and  the 
windows  were  barred.  As  the  iron  door  closed  on 
him  and  he  realized  his  situation,  the  affront  put 
upon  him  grew  to  its  true  proportions.  For  a  few 


DEPUTY   SHERIFF   HARPER          219 

minutes  he  was  controlled  by  an  impotent  anger  that 
did  not  help  matters  in  the  least;  but  finally  he 
quieted,  and  using  what  philosophy  he  could  com 
mand,  awaited  Harper's  arrival.  He  was  of  course 
unaware  that  his  messenger  had  thrust  the  bill  into 
his  pocket  and  returned  to  his  post  at  the  Alamo. 
There  lie  coolly  unfolded  the  note  and  read: 

"  Am  jailed  on  a  false  charge.     Come  to  me  at  once. 
Planet  is  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

Jack. " 

After  which  he  tore  the  paper  into  small  fragments. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  DEVIL  CARES  FOR  HIS  OWN 

IN  the  meantime  Mr.  Deputy  Sheriff  Harper  was 
having  a  series  of  disappointments. 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  learn,  in  a  quiet 
way,  that  Bagshot  and  his  party  were  yet  guests  at 
the  Menger  Hotel.  This  gave  him  great  satisfaction, 
taking  away  his  only  fear,  though,  never  having  seen 
any  of  the  trio,  he  could  not  identify  the  men,  and 
kept  \vondering  if  they  were  among  the  numerous 
characters  who  lounged  in  and  out  of  the  building. 

As  soon  as  he  had  washed  away  the  grime  of  his 
journey  he  found  his  way  to  the  jail,  only  to  learn 
that  Sheriff  Thorp  would  not  be  in  town  till  the 
following  day,  he  being  in  chase  of  a  criminal  who 
had  fled  into  an  adjoining  county. 

This  was  Harper's  first  set-back.  He  decided  to 
inform  Wentworth  of  the  hitch  in  his  plans,  and 
to  consult  him  as  to  the  wisdom  of  awaiting  Thorp's 
return,  or  by  demanding  assistance  from  a  lesser 
authority,  proceed  without  him. 

But  to  his  surprise,  in  the  face  of  the  admonition 
220 


THE   DEVIL   CARES    FOR   HIS   OWN     221 

to  remain  in-doors,  Wentworth  was  out,  and  had 
neither  left  word  as  to  where  he  was  going  nor  when 
he  would  return;  and  Harper,  not  dreaming  that 
his  friend's  absence  would  be  protracted,  decided  to 
wait.  Taking  off  his  coat,  he  threw  himself  on  the 
cool  wicker  lounge  in  Wentworth's  room,  and  fell 
asleep  with  a  promptness  that  was  not  remarkable 
considering  his  lack  of  rest  on  the  train  the  night 
previous. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  pitch  dark.  Striking  a 
match,  he  looked  at  his  watch  and,  discovering  it 
to  be  past  nine,  he  could  hardly  realize  the  flight  of 
time.  And  Wentworth  had  not  returned. 

Scribbling  a  hasty  note,  which  he  left  on  the  table, 
Harper  went  back  to  the  Menger  Hotel  and  was 
seized  with  something  like  consternation  on  dis 
covering  that  no  word  had  come  from  his  friend. 

He  was  now  certain  that  something  had  happened, 
and  his  mind  naturally  turned  to  Bagshot  and 
Planet  as  the  cause  of  his  companion's  sudden  dis 
appearance.  Wentworth  was  not  the  man  to  be 
beguiled  by  one  of  the  blatant  and  open  dives  that 
liberally  besprinkled  San  Antonio.  He  had  not  been 
lured  away  by  viciousness — that  idea  was  nonsen 
sical. 

Being  a  total  stranger,  there  was  but  one  thing 
for  Harper  to  do — and  that  to  appeal  to  the  police. 
For  some  time  he  hesitated  at  taking  the  step,  even 
returning  to  Wentworth's  hotel;  but,  finding  him 


222  THE   RED   PAPER 

still  absent,  in  deep  worry  he  set  out  for  the  jail 
again.  Entering  the  dimly  lighted  and  barren  room 
he  accosted  the  half-dressed  man  who  sat  with  his 
feet  cocked  on  the  pine  desk. 

"A  friend  of  mine  has  disappeared  from  his  hotel. 
I  am  getting  anxious  about  him.  Can  anything  be 
done  to  find  him?  He  is  a  stranger  here,  as  am  I." 

"Where's  he  from?"  asked  the  man,  slowly  taking 
his  feet  down  and  flicking  the  ash  from  his  cigar. 

"From  New  York." 

"New  York,  hey!     What  name?" 

"John  Wentworth." 

"Tall  chap?  Broad  shoulders,  with  a  dinky  mus 
tache  an'  a  lot  of  hot  talk?" 

Harper  looked  at  the  fellow  in  astonishment. 

"I  think  you  refer  to  the  man  I  mean.  What 
do  you  know  of  him?" 

The  officer  reached  for  a  dilapidated  book  lying 
on  the  desk  and  opened  it,  running  a  dirty  finger 
down  the  page. 

"Wentworth,  John.  New  York.  Arrived  from 
Galveston  this  afternoon.  Tourist,  he  calls  himself. 
Yaas!  that's  him!  I  think  we  have  your  friend  in 
the  cooler,  stranger. " 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"Charged  by  a  greaser.  Assault — intent  to  kill. 
This  here  town  has  got  to  be  kept  peaceful,  stranger! 
Case  may  come  up  to-morrow,  sometime,  ef  the 
judge  ain't  too  busy." 


THE   DEVIL   CARES   FOR  HIS   OWN    223 

Harper  was  stunned. 

"Can  I  see  him?"  he  asked. 

"Not  on  yer  life — at  this  hour.  Come  in  about 
sunup.  Ye  wouldn't  disturb  a  man's  sleep  would 
ye?" 

"I  think  he  will  be  glad  to  be  disturbed  by  me." 

"Well,  he  won't  be.  Ye  needn't  worry  about  him 
bein'  lost  no  more;  he's  safe  enough!" 

"Can't  I  bail  him  out?" 

"Probably — to-morrer;  that's  the  judge's  business, 
not  mine." 

Harper  fairly  staggered  from  the  place.  What 
had  Wentworth  done?  What  would  be  the  result 
of  this?  A  greaser!  He  stopped  in  his  walk  as  light 
came  to  him.  Had  Wentworth  tried  to  capture 
Planet  single-handed? 

He  did  not  sleep  that  night,  and  early  the  next 
morning  he  was  at  the  jail,  though  it  was  nearly  ten 
o'clock  before  he  was  admitted  to  his  friend.  As 
the  turnkey  was  about  to  unlock  the  door  Harper 
asked  him  if  Sheriff  Thorp  had  yet  arrived. 

"No,  sir,  but  we  expect  him  back  shortly.  Had 
a  'phone  from  him  late  last  night.  He  got  his  man. " 

"Ah!"  Harper  took  a  bill  from  his  pocket  and 
held  it  out  to  his  conductor.  "Will  you  take  this, 
and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  he  arrives?  I  wish  to 
see  him."  The  turnkey  looked  a  bit  suspicious,  but 
took  the  bill.  "Who  shall  I  say  wants  him?"  he 
asked. 


224  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Deputy  Sheriff  Harper,  of  New  York." 

The  expression  of  indifference  fell  like  a  mask 
from  the  fellow's  face. 

"Yaas,  sir — certainly,  sir;  I'll  let  you  know  at 
once,  sir.  You  was  gave  an  hour  in  here,  but  you 
can  take  your  time,  sir.  Yes,  sir."  And  he  swung 
open  the  door. 

Fortunately  Wentworth  had  been  untroubled  by 
a  companion.  Haggard-eyed,  dirty,  and  disheveled, 
he  saw  Harper  enter,  and  his  rage  burst  forth.  Briefly 
he  told  his  story,  leaving  out  the  warmth  of  his 
interview  with  the  young  lady,  his  big  friend  listen 
ing  with  mingled  fee1  ings  of  anger  and  relief. 

"Why  in  the  name  of  common  sense  didn't  you 
send  for  me  at  once?''  he  asked. 

"Send  for  you!  I  did — by  the  man  who  arrested 
me — and  wondered  why  you  didn't  come!  I  gave 
the  scoundrel  two  dollars." 

"You  were  probably  outbid  by  Planet.  I'll  make 
it  hot  for  that  Alamo  chap — if  we  have  the  time;  for 
this  thing  will  hurry  them.  But,  thank  Heaven, 
it's  no  worse!  I've  imagined  horrible  things!  Have 
patience.  Jack,  it  will  soon  be  all  right!  No  one  but 
a  fool  will  believe  Planet's  story,  and  when  the  sheriff 
comes  the  thing  will  be  set  straight  in  a  jiffy.  They 
are  here  and  we  will  have  them!" 

"And,  have  you  seen— 

"No,  my  son;  not  to  be  sure  of  her.  There  are 
several  beauties  at  the  hotel,  and— 


THE    DEVIL   CARES    FOR   HIS   OWN     225 

"Never  mind  your  nonsense,"  interrupted  Went- 
worth,  who  was  not  to  be  chaffed  into  good  humor. 
"By  the  Lord,  I'd  almost  sacrifice  Bagshot  to  get 
hold  of  Planet! — where  we  wouldn't  be  disturbed." 

"And  would  you  also  sacrifice  Miss  Merridale's 
interest — to  say  nothing  of  the  lady  herself?'1 

"I've  been  an  ass!"    was  the  disgusted  rejoinder. 

"In  what  way,  Jack?   Not  regarding  her?" 

Wentworth  looked  seriously  at  his  big  friend. 
"Perhaps  you  would  think  so  if  you  knew.  No, 
I  didn't  refer  to  her.  Quite  the  contrary;  that  is  the 
only  part  of  the  day  I  am  proud  of!" 

"I  grope.  Jack." 

"Well,  I  haven't  been  honest,  Tom.  She  was  and 
is  the  crux  of  the  matter.  It  is  she  I  find  I  am  chasing. 
I  'fess  cold.  I'm  in  the  race  for  her — and  now  she 
knows  it.  I  told  her — and  by  all  that's  holy  I'm 
going  to  get  her  and  relieve  her  and  myself  of  the 
two  villains  who  have  outraged  and  robbed  both 
of  us.  If  you  must  have  it — I  love  her !" 

Harper  bent  forward  and  reached  out  his  hand. 
"I  congratulate  you,  old  man,  but  the  last  is  no 
news  to  me.  However!"  He  was  interrupted  by 
the  door  being  opened  by  the  turnkey. 

"Sheriff  Thorp  just  arrived  this  minute,  sir. 
He's  in  front  of  the  jail  now.  If  you  want  to  see 
him  you'd  better  take  your  chance  while  you  can 
get  it." 

Harper    waited    for    no    more.     He    jumped    up, 


226  THE   RED   PAPER 

running  out  of  the  cell  and  so  into  the  jail  office 
ln  time  to  see  a  mounted  man  swing  himself  from 
his  horse  and  enter  the  building.  Covered  with 
dust,  he  was  dressed  after  the  fashion  of  the  traditional 
cow-boy,  and  conspicuously  armed  with  two  revolvers. 
Harper  went  straight  up  to  him  as  he  entered  the 
office. 

"This  is  Sheriff  Thorp?" 

"Yes,   sir,"  was   the  answer  given  with  a  snap. 

"I  am  Deputy  Sheriff  Harper  of  New  York.  I 
have  a  letter  for  you,  and  wish  to  have  a  talk  with 
you  as  soon  as  possible." 

As  he  spoke  he  looked  sharply  at  the  Texan,  and 
saw  a  stocky  man  of  about  his  own  age  whose  face 
was  deeply  tanned,  and  whose  hair  and  small 
moustache  had  been  faded  by  long  exposure  to  the 
burning  sun  until  they  had  the  tint  of  hay.  The 
whole  color  of  the  man  was  faded,  but  through  this 
neutral  tint  there  shone  a  pair  of  lively  black  eyes 
that  commanded  instant  attention.  Harper  con 
sidered  him  a  large  copy  of  Bunsen,  only  more  ner 
vous,  more  intense,  and  entirely  lacking  in  the  lat- 
ter's  boyish  expression  and  height  of  color.  Thorp 
seemed  to  take  in  the  New  Yorker  with  a  flash  of 
his  eye. 

"Very  good,  sir.  I'll  see  you  within  ten  minutes, 
and  give  you  all  the  time  you  require.  Please  step 
into  this  room." 

In  the  meantime  Wentworth  was  waiting.     He  sat 


THE   DEVIL   CARES   FOR   HIS   OWN     227 

tmmoving  on  the  edge  of  the  board  which  had  been 
his  bed.  His  spirit  was  not  in  the  least  broken  by 
his  hard  experience,  but  the  anger  that  still  gnawed 
at  his  heart  was  now  largely  directed  against  him 
self.  Harper  had  been  gone  two  hours,  and  high 
noon  had  struck.  The  impatient  prisoner  was 
wondering  what  had  become  of  his  chum  when  he 
heard  a  heavy  footstep  accompanied  by  the  clank 
of  spurs  coming  down  the  stone  corridor,  and  in  a 
moment  Harper  entered  with  Sheriff  Thorp.  The 
latter  went  straight  to  the  prisoner  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"I'm  Sheriff  Thorp,"  he  began  abruptly  and  with 
out  waiting  for  Harper  to  speak.  "I  have  become 
a  little  familiar  with  your  case,  sir.  It  is  interesting 
from  the  start,  and  you  have  been  outraged.  There's 
going  to  be  a  damned  hot  time  in  this  ranch  over 
your  affair,  when  I  can  see  to  it.  Sharp  dodge  on 
the  greaser's  part!  Quick  wit,  I  must  say!  But  I've 
got  to  hang  to  the  letter  o'  the  law  an'  get  you  out 
in  the  regular  way.  I  reckon  you'll  be  free  as  soon 
as  court  sits — say  about  three  o'clock.  In  the 
meantime  Mr.  Harper  an'  me  will  just  walk  over 
to  the  hotel  on  a  little  matter  o'  business— though  I 
have  an  idee— I  have  an  idee!" 

He  stopped  and  drew  his  brows  together  as  though 
in  deep  thought.  "I'll  have  you  out  of  here,  any 
way,"  he  went  on  abruptly.  "Come  up  stairs  to 
my  room.  You'll  stay  there  until  out  of  limbo. 


228  THE    RED   PAPER 

Great  pity  Bunsen  couldn't  ha'    come  with  you— 
great  pity!    Come  on,  sir." 

There  was  a  burst  of  spontaneity  about  the  man 
that  carried  Wentworth  before  it.  He  felt  that 
here  was  competency,  and  that  with  such  a  backing 
he  would  obtain  both  justice  and  revenge.  Revenge! 
Wentworth  was  only  human  and  he  was  still  suffering. 
It  was  nearly  three  o'clock,  and  San  Antonio,  no 
longer  entirely  wredded  to  ancient  customs,  was 
coming  early  out  of  siesta.  For  something  like  two 
hours  Wentworth  had  been  in  a  large,  cool  room  in 
the  sheriff's  quarters,  that  official  and  Harper  hav 
ing  gone  to  the  Alenger  Hotel.  The  young  man 
had  washed,  and  refreshed  himself  with  a  good  meal 
and  now,  in  improved  humor,  \vas  leaning  back  in 
a  big  cane-seated  chair,  smoking  a  cigar  and  await 
ing  the  return  of  the  sheriff  with  his  prisoners,  and 
the  opening  of  the  court. 

His  fancies  flew  lightly.  With  her  uncle  arrested 
what  would  become  of  Grace?  Not  that  he  asked 
himself  the  question  for  lack  of  knowing.  He  knew 
well  enough.  He  smiled  to  himself. 

"No  one  to  protect  her?"  He  would  see  to  that. 
Harper  might  form  his  syndicate — and  go  North 
alone.  And  then— 
His  pleasant  reverie  was  broken  in  upon  by  the 
man  whose  name  was  floating  through  his  mind. 
Without  knocking,  the  new  deputy  sheriff  burst 
into  the  room  with  as  much  precipitation  as  though 


THE   DEVIL   CARES   FOR   HIS   OWN     220 

the  apartment  were  his  own,  and  his  first  words 
brought  Wentworth's  castle  tottering  to  the  ground. 

"They  have  escaped!  They  have  gone,  Heaven 
knows  where,  for  there  is  not  a  trace  of  them! 
Oh,  fool!  ass!  imbecile  that  I  have  been!" 

"Gone!"  shouted  Wentworth,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"Yes!  Vanished  into  thin  air!  Thorp  has  stayed 
behind  to  investigate.  He's  not  a  cursed  bit  ilum- 
muxed.  I  ought  not  to  have  waited  an  instant  for 
Thorp — or  gone  to  see  you  about  what  to  do!  I 
might  have  had  them!  I'm  a  fine  specimen  of  an 
officer  of  the  law!  Oh,  kick  me,  somebody!" 

"And  Miss  Merridale  has  left  no  word  no  note 
for  me?" 

"Not  a  thing.  1  inquired.  We  only  know  that 
some  time  in  the  evening,  when  I  was  asleep  at  your 
place,  an  automobile  came  up  and  took  the  whole 
kit." 

"We  should  easily  trace  the  auto'-  '  began  Went 
worth. 

"That's  the  curse  of  it!'  interrupted  Harper. 
"No  one  knows  its  number  or  its  driver.  It  was  a 
planned  sneak-  a  get-away.  They  were  scared  by 
what  Planet  did  yesterday,  knowing  what  would  be 
likely  to  happen  to-day.  Oh,  I  ought  to  be  horse 
whipped!  Why  in  Heaven's  name  didn't  you  stay  in 
the  house,  as  you  agreed  to  do?" 

There  was    no  answer  to  this.      Harper  savagely 


230  THE   RED   PAPER 

bit  off  the  end  of  a  cigar  and  began  to  smoke,  throw 
ing  himself  into  a  chair,  with  an  air  of  infinite  disgust. 

Neither  man  spoke  for  a  time.  There  was  nothing 
to  say,  since  the  story  had  been  told.  Wentworth 
knew  that  the  fault  had  been  his,  but  in  the  face  of 
what  had  happened  in  the  Alamo  before  Planet 
attacked  him,  he  was  not  prepared  to  say  he  was 
sorry  he  had  broken  his  promise  though  he  was 
sorry  enough  for  one  of  its  results.  He  under 
stood  his  friend's  irritation,  and  knew  that  a  hasty  or 
inappropriate  word  would  be  a  spark  which  might 
cause  an  explosion  both  would  forever  regret.  The 
two  men  sat  and  looked  at  each  other,  both  smoking, 
but  neither  ventured  on  a  remark.  The  situation 
was  growing  more  and  more  tense,  and  each  silently 
prayed  for  the  coming  of  the  sheriff.  He  might 
have  news. 

But  it  was  nearly  an  hour  more  before  Thorp  came 
in,  bringing  with  him  an  air  of  alacrity  and  decision. 
"For  a  time  we  have  lost  them,"  he  said,  as  he  en 
tered  the  room,  but  the  remark  was  given  in  a  man 
ner  that  conveyed  the  idea  that  the  news  was 
favorable.  "At  the  railroad  station  I  get  no  trace 
of  them.  From  what  I  have  discovered  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  driven  into 
the  open  country  or  to  some  point  where  the  auto' 
was  exchanged  for  an  ambulance.  But  in  what 
direction  they  went  I  am  not  yet  satisfied.  If  I 
only  savvied  more  of  the  men!" 


THE   DEVIL   CARES   FOR    HIS   OWN     231 

"The  men?  Haven't  you  heard  the  whole  story?" 
asked  Wentworth. 

"Only  in  part.  Little  aside  of  what  the  warrant 
covers,  and  nothing  as  to  the  character  of  the  men." 

"Then  you  are  but  half-informed!  You  tell  him, 
Tom.  I  can't  go  into  the  thing  again." 

And  so  Harper  told  the  whole  story,  Wentworth 
here  and  there  putting  in  a  word  of  correction.  It 
was  a  long  but  very  complete  tale,  and  when  it  was 
finished  the  sheriff's  face  had  lost  its  puzzled  expres 
sion. 

"A  precious  pair  of  villains!"  he  ejaculated. 
•'I  believe  they  have  gone  as  straight  to  the  mines  as 
possible,  or  will  go  after  disposing  of  the  lady.  They 
will  outfit  for  the  plains  at  Boerne.  They  must, 
for  Boerne  would  be  the  last  place  they  could  outfit. 
And  they  have  elected  to  drive  rather  than  risk 
identification  on  the  railroad." 

"I  know  that  Bagshot  intended  to  go  to  Boerne. 
Miss  Merridale  told  me  that,"  said  Wentworth. 

"Ah,  that  simplifies  matters!  Boerne  is  thirty- two 
miles  north  from  here.  I  was  born  there;  my  father 
lives  there  now — drives  the  stage  from  Boerne  to 
Johnson  City.  The  place  is  something  more  than 
the  mere  settlement  it  was  a  few  years  ago,  but  it 
is  the  jumping-off  place  for  the  llanos  directly  west. 
By  thunder,  I  see  their  game!  Look  here!"  He 
went  to  a  drawer  and  brought  out  a  map  of  Texas. 
"See!  They  go  to  Leon  Springs,  then  to  Boerne, 


232  THE   RED    PAPER 

then  to  Comfort,  crossing  the  ford  of  the  Guadaloupe, 
than  to  Kerrsville  where  he  is  to  meet  some  parties 
who  are  to  go  on  to  the  mine  with  him.  Of  course 
they  are  hurried  but  they  are  conservative,  too;  they 
show  that  by  taking  to  horses  and  wheels  instead  of 
going  by  the  short  railroad  that  ends  at  Kerrsville. 
And  they  dare  not  drop  the  lady  until  they  are  ready 
to  lose  themselves  on  leaving  Kerrsville,  having 
outfitted  for  the  mines.  Gentlemen,  I  know  every 
foot  of  the  land  beyond  Kerrsville.  A  few  miles 
west  it  is  practically  a  desert.  It  would  be  hard  to 
catch  them  if  they  enter  it.  I  shall  at  once  telegraph 
Boerne  and  Kerrsville,  but  I  doubt  if  we  get  them  that 
way;  I  think  Bagshot  is  too  foxy  for  such  a  simple 
trap.  Does  he  know  Mr.  Harper  is  connected  with 
this?" 

"No.  He  thinks  I  alone  am  after  him,"  said 
Went  worth. 

"Good!  Now  I  see  my  way!  Gentlemen,  this 
thing  interests  me  for  its  own  sake  as  well  as  for 
yours.  Just  now  I  am  comparatively  free,  and  I 
will  take  this  up  and  carry  it  through,  if  you  wish  it, 
but  it  will  cost  you  time,  money  and  hard  work.  Are 
you  for  it?" 

Thorp  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  as  he 
talked,  his  head  bent,  his  thumbs  hooked  into  his 
belt,  his  step  and  voice  filled  with  energy.  Werit- 
worth  caught  the  man's  fire. 

"Most   decidedly  we   both  are  for  it,  when  I  am 


THE   DEVIL   CARES   FOR   HIS   OWN     233 

free,"  he  said.  "Neither  time,  money,  nor  work 
need  be  considered." 

"That  paper  alone  is  worth  the  trip  after  them," 
said  Thorp.  "You  may  leave  the  details  to  me. 
Of  course  Planet  won't  be  in  court,  and  you  will  be 
discharged  at  once.  But,  gentlemen,  you  must  start 
the  ir.omenl.  I  am  ready.  We  are  chasing  desperate 
men  who  will  now  stop  at  nothing.  I  would  advise 
you  to  buy  proper  clothing  and  arm  yourselves — a 
rifle  each  and  revolvers.  In  Texas  a  civilian  can  no 
longer  carry  arms  without  a  license,  but  officers  of 
the  law  are  exempt.  I  will  swear  you  both  in  as  my 
posse.  It  is  best  to  keep  this  to  ourselves.  Stand  up. 

He  drew  himself  up  before  them  and  in  a  rapid 
and  perfunctory  manner  administered  the  oath. 
There  was  a  headlong  dash  about  the  man  that  was 
contagious,  and  the  two  friends  felt  themselves 
booked  for  a  novel  adventure,  though  neither  hesi 
tated  for  an  instant. 

"Meet  me  in  front  of  this  building  at  five  o'clock 
to-night,"  said  Thorp  in  a  voice  that  admitted  of 
neither  question  nor  suggestion.  "I  have  a  heap  to 
attend  to  before  that  time.  Can  you  ride?" 

"We  both  ride." 

"Good!  And  your  ability  will  be  tested.  I  will 
attend  to  getting  horses." 

"Here?"  asked  Harper,  astonished;  "Don't  we 
go  by  rail  to  Boerne?" 

Thorp    smiled.     "Hardly — and    for    two    reasons; 


234  THE   RED    PAPER 

first,  that  I  wish  to  cover  more  breadth  of  ground 
than  lies  between  two  steel  rails;  and  second;  that 
there  isn't  another  train  to  Boerne  until  nine  to 
morrow  morning.  And  I  wish  to  stop  several  times 
on  my  way. " 

He  walked  to  the  door  where  he  turned  and  spoke 
again,  his  face  becoming  impressive.  "Gentlemen, 
those  two  scoundrels  have  nigh  twenty-four  hours 
start  of  us.  You  have  booked  yourselves  for  no 
picnic;  it  will  be  an  experience  that  will  test  your 
sand;  or  I  fail  to  read  those  fellows  straight.  But 
we  will  not  let  up  on  them  until  we  have  them,  alive 
or  dead.  When  I  go  on  a  trail  I  camp  on  it." 

And  with  that  he  went  out.  Later  both  Went- 
worth  and  Harper  remembered  his  prophecy. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  STAGE-DRIVER 

INSTEAD  of  its  being  five  o'clock,  it  was  past 
sunset  when  the  mounted  trio  left  the  door  of 
the  San  Antonio  jail.  In  that  latitude  darkness 
falls  swiftly  after  the  sun  goes  down,  but  the  moon 
in  its  second  quarter  gave  plenty  of  light  for  travel 
ing. 

From  the  time  Thorp  had  left  the  two  men  in  his 
room,  there  had  been  no  hitch  other  than  some  delay 
in  the  business  of  the  sheriff's  office.  Regarding  the 
steps  taken  for  Wentworth,  the  matter  had  been 
almost  perfunctory.  He  had  appeared  before  the 
judge,  and  was  promptly  discharged,  not  only  on 
account  of  the  weight  of  his  own  story,  but  through 
the  absence  of  his  accuser.  The  case  of  the  watch 
man  at  the  Alamo  was  to  remain  in  abeyance  until 
the  more  urgent  business  of  catching  Bagshot  had 
been  accomplished. 

Nothing  more  had  been  learned  of  the  fugitives, 
and  apparently  nothing  more  was  necessary  to  the 
present  knowledge  of  their  pursuers.  Thorp  was 


236  THE   RED    PAPER 

positive  that  Bagshot  was  on  his  way  toward  the 
Northwest. 

"I  cannot  quite  understand  it,"  said  Wentworth, 
as  the  trio  moved  out  of  the  city.  "Whatever  else 
he  may  be,  Bagshot  is  no  fool.  He  believes  I  am  on 
his  trail.  Why  did  he  not  send  Miss  Merridale  to 
Kerrsvillc  by  railroad,  while  he  and  Planet  hid 
themselves  in  Mexico  until  the  trouble  blew  over  and 
they  knew  I  would  be  gone?  That  would  be  their 
logical  proceeding." 

"My  friend,"  said  Thorp,  drawing  his  horse  to 
Wentworth's  side,  "my  experience  is  that  criminals 
are  rarely  logical,  as  you  call  it.  For  wrhich  we  are 
to  be  thankful;  for  if  their  brains  worked  consistently 
we  would  have  little  chance  of  catching  them.  Every 
crook  has  a  touch  of  what  might  be  called  insanity. 
He  lacks  mental  balance  else  he  wouldn't  be  a  crook; 
and  while  he  appears  to  be  mighty  sharp  in  some 
of  his  motions  he  is  equally  stupid  in  others. 

"I  figure  on  Bagshot  this  way:  In  the  first  place, 
he  is  afraid  of  the  girl;  mistake  number  one,  as  she 
could  only  obtain  that  paper  through  a  long  and 
uncertain  civil  suit.  In  the  second  place,  he  and 
Planet  are  not  alone  in  this  job;  there  is  someone 
in  Kerrsville  awaiting  them,  someone  essential  to 
the  success  of  the  scheme,  and  that  is  why  he  is 
going  there — that  is  his  second  mistake.  In  the 
third  place;  you  have  upset  his  plans  and  rattled 
him,  first  by  charging  him  with  the  murder  of  your 


THE   STAGE-DRIVER  237 

father,  and  second  by  your  knowledge  of  the  value 
of  the  map.  He  knows  you  have  money,  and  prob 
ably  fears  that  you  have  made  a  duplicate  of  the 
map,  as  you  have  seemed  to  care  little  for  it,  or  have 
obtained  sufficient  knowledge  from  it  to  start  an 
expedition  of  your  own,  stake  out  the  claim  yourself 
and  render  all  his  trouble  useless.  Do  you  see?" 

"I  see  your  point." 

"Well,  to  make  my  theory  hold  water  I  have 
found  out  that  Bagshot  has  had  many  telegrams 
from  Kerrsville,  but  I  don't  know  who  from;  if  I 
did  I  would  have  him  watched.  I  have  already 
telegraphed  to  the  sheriff  there  to  hold  the  outfit 
when  it  appears;  but  the  chances  are  that  it  will  not 
appear  as  it  left  here.  As  you  say,  Bagshot  is  no 
fool." 

"Our  chance,  then,  is  to  overtake  them?"  asked 
Wentworth,  catching  the  shrewdness  of  Thorp's 
deductions. 

"It  seems  to  be  our  main  chance,"  returned  the 
officer.  "I  have  much  to  think  of,"  and  drawing 
away  his  horse  he  relapsed  into  sombre  silence. 

At  the  start  Wentworth  had  been  amused.  The 
smallness  of  the  horses  and  the  height  of  the  cantle 
and  horn  of  the  Mexican  saddle  excited  his  ridicule, 
but  he  had  reason  to  acknowledge  the  staying  powers 
of  the  animals  and  the  comfort  of  the  cradle-like 
structure  ere  he  again  saw  the  ancient  Texas  city. 

There  was  a  strong  smack  of  the  romantic  in  his 


238  THE   RED   PAPER 

situation,  in  the  half-light  of  the  moon,  in  the  silence, 
in  the  nature  of  his  errand;  and  these,  with  their 
novelty  under  the  circumstances,  had  a  strong  effect 
on  his  spirits.  Here  was  a  dash  of  life  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  before  known,  and  he  little 
realized  that  he  was  being  lifted  by  the  excitement 
of  the  greatest  and  most  brutal  of  all  games:  the 
man-hunt. 

To  him  it  seemed  ages  since  he  had  left  New 
York,  ages  since  he  had  been  beset  by  ennui.  Ahead 
lay  a  glow  that  tinged  the  young  man's  mental 
horizon  and  caused  his  spirits  to  fly  as  wildly  as 
sparks  in  a  gale.  It  was  high  tide  with  him — the 
flooding  of  love,  youth,  imagination  and  perfect 
health.  He  was  yet  to  need  the  sustaining  power 
of  each. 

As  the  trio  drew  from  the  city  limits  and  ambled 
over  the  '  black-waxy  '  of  the  so-called  State  Road 
now  turned  to  a  gray  powder  by  the  dryness  of 
season,  Wentworth  could  have  lifted  his  voice  and 
sung  from  an  excess  of  animal  spirits — only  there 
was  something  grim  in  the  bearing  of  the  young 
sheriff — a  something  that  repressed  any  outburst. 

In  round  numbers  Leon  Springs  is  twenty-live 
miles  north  of  San  Antonio;  and  as  they  had  not 
pushed  their  pace,  it  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when 
they  reached  it.  They  drew  rein  before  an  unlighted 
house  with  a  corral  behind  it,  and  by  then  both 
Wentworth  and  Harper  were  fagged  out  by  the 


THE   STAGE-DRIVER  239 

unusual  ride.  "Stay  on  your  cayuses,  gentlemen," 
said  the  sheriff,  as  he  swung  from  his  own  piebald 
horse. 

"Don't  we  stop  here?"  asked  Harper,  who  was 
saddle-galled. 

"Can't  tell  yet.     Played  out?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  it,  but  if  we  go 
farther  to-night  I  am  afraid  I  will  have  to  walk." 

"I  think  not,"  was  the  short  return.  "I  gave 
you  fair  warning." 

"You're  the  boss,"  said  Harper,  shifting  his  big 
body  in  the  saddle,  "but  that  means  eating  from  a 
mantel-piece  and  sleeping  on  my  stomach  for  a 
month  to  come.  I'm  glad  I  came." 

Thorp  smiled  grimly.  "And  this  is  nothing  to 
what  you  will  have  to  come  to — unless  I  lose  my 
guess.  Never  mind,  sir,  so's  you're  game.  You'll 
get  used  to  it. "  He  left  the  two  in  the  road,  knocked 
on  the  door  of  the  house,  and  after  a  few  moments 
of  whispered  conversation  with  the  man  who  an 
swered  his  summons,  he  came  back  and  got  into 
his  saddle.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said.  "I  am  a  bit 
puzzled.  Our  friends  have  not  passed  through  Leon 
Springs,  but  it  is  likely  they  flanked  it.  We  will 
get  on  to  Boerne.  My  father  will  know  more  than 
I  can  learn  here. " 

The  others  groaned  inwardly;  but  the  sheriff  and 
his  tired  posse  started  again.  Five  miles  beyond 
Leon  Springs  they  climbed  the  rampart  which 


240  THE    RED    PAPER 

stretches  across  central  Texas — an  ancient  beach 
to  the  shallow  sea  that  ages  before  covered  the 
plain  below.  From  there  the  character  of  the  coun 
try  changed  to  a  rolling  plateau,  covered  with  clumps 
of  live-oak  and  patches  of  woodland  broken  by 
lovely  savannas.  By  this  the  moon  was  low  but 
it  stiil  gave  sufficient  light  to  expose  the  beauty  of 
the  new  land — the  "God's  Country"  to  those  who 
have  once  known  it,  and  which,  after  it  is  left,  for 
ever  beckons. 

But  neither  of  the  city  men  were  in  condition  to 
appreciate  the  glory  of  the  prospect  nor  the  beauties 
of  nature;  in  fact  neither  was  more  than  half-alive, 
and  the  party  moved  on  in  dead  silence,  so  far  as 
words  were  concerned.  It  was  after  one  o'clock 
when  they  forded  the  Cibola  and  entered  the  silent 
hamlet  of  Boerne.  In  an  hour  more  their  horses 
were  corral ed,  and  Wentworth  and  Harper  were 
asleep  in  the  house  of  the  sheriff's  father,  too  ex 
hausted  to  think.  For  aught  they  knew,  or  cared, 
Bagshot  might  have  been  in  the  next  room. 

But  the  following  morning  found  them  in  better 
shape  though  suffering  from  that  species  of  rheuma 
tism  which  springs  from  the  overtaxed  muscles  of 
those  who,  though  horsemen,  have  not  had  late 
practise.  When  they  woke  the  sun  was  high  and 
they  were  startled  by  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  won 
dering  why  they  had  been  allowed  to  rest  so  long. 
They  learned  soon  enough. 


THE   STAGE-DRIVER  241 

On  meeting  the  sheriff,  who  showed  no  signs  of 
either  fatigue  or  haste — though  he  had  not  slept 
at  all — their  inquiries  were  met  by  disappoint 
ment. 

"They  haven't  been  through  Boerne,  either  and 
they  would  likely  stop  here,  if  they  came  this 
way.  They've  got  to  outfit  somewhere.  Honest 
Injun,  I  feel  something  like  a  fool  about  this!  I 
felt  sure  we  would  get  more  than  a  trace  of  them 
here,  but  you  needn't  think  we  have  lost  them  though 
we  have  lost  the  scent  for  a  while.  I've  been  con 
sulting  the  guv'nor.  He  wants  to  see  you  gentlemen 
before  he  starts  on  his  stage  trip." 

Bud  Thorp,  the  driver  of  the  stage  from  Boerne 
to  Johnson  City  in  Blanco  County,  was  a  man  who 
might  have  been  a  well-to-do  New  England  farmer, 
from  appearances.  He  was  clean-shaven,  tanned  to 
a  deep  leather  color,  and  had  his  son's  eyes — black, 
piercing,  and  shrewd.  Apparently,  he  was  as  open 
as  the  day;  but  for  sound  sense  no  one  in  Kendall 
County  was  his  superior. 

"Harper!  Glad  to  know  ye,  sir.  An' Wentworth 
same,  by  thunder!  Glad  to  know  ye  both!  Now, 
Cave,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  sheriff,  "I'll  just 
naturally  con  that  story  again,  an'  take  bearin's. 
All  I  can  say  is  no  such  party  has  run  a  course  on. 
this  settlement- -not  in  no  ambulance.  Nothin' 
but  cedar-post  wagons  has  gone  through  Boerne 
'sides  what  goes  through  on  that  railroad.  I  uster 


242  THE   RED    PAPER 

drive  to  San  Antonio,  gents,  but  that  one-boss  con 
cern  made  me  change  my  route.  Gentlemen,  we're 
just  a  little  off  soundin's  here,  an'  not  many  craft 
sails  by,  but  what  we  speak  'em  all.  What  will 
ye  have  before  we  gets  to  work?" 

Both  Wentworth  and  Harper  were  struck  by  the 
marine  flavor  of  the  old  fellow's  words,  and  won 
dered  at  the  brine  found  so  far  from  the  ocean.  It 
was  evident  that  the  stage-driver  had  once  been  a 
sailor.  They  were  sitting  on  the  veranda  of  the 
house;  and  the  sheriff,  always  with  an  eye  to  business, 
pulled  out  the  warrant,  read  it,  and  stated  what  he 
knew. 

"Good  Lord!"  said  the  old  man,  straightening 
himself  and  pushing  his  spectacles  up  to  his  forehead. 
"  Bagshot'  Simeon  Bagshot!  I  don't  savvy  no 
Planet,  but  I'm  on  to  Bagshot  with  both  feet  from 
keel  to  truck.  Why,  he  came  from  these  parts!  An' 
suspected  o'  killin'  a  man  named  Wentworth!  Your 
relation,  son?"  He  swung  around  to  John. 

"My  father,  sir.  He  was  in  Texas  for  some  time 
twelve  years  ago.  Did  you  ever  know  him?" 

The  old  man  drew  his  shaggy  brows  together  and 
pondered.  "Did  I  know  your  father,  son?  Well,  I 
dunno  as  I  did;  but  I  knew  a  Wentworth  some 
thutty-odd  years  ago.  You  bet  I  did;  here's  what 
he  gave  me." 

The  stage-driver  pulled  off  his  Stetson  and  showed 
a  glistening  bald  head,  across  the  top  of  which  was 


THE   STAGE-DRIVER  243 

a  deep,   sunken  welt — the  mark  of  a   terrific  scar. 
He  laughed. 

"Hearin'  that  old  name  seems  funny!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Well,  I  hadn't  got  nothin'  ag'in  him. 
Hain't  seen  him  since.  I  wonder  now  if  that  Went- 
worth  could  'a'  been  your  dad,  son?  We  was  boys  at 
sea  together,  an'  got  inter  a  row  over  some  money. 
We  was  lyin'  in  Havana  Harbor  that  time,  me  a 
hulk  of  a  cabin-boy,  an'  him  a  sort  o'  midshipman- 
like.  Anyhow,  we  got  into  a  fight — guess  it  was  my 
fault,  I  was  pretty  tough — an'  in  the  thick  of  it 
Went  fetches  me  a  crack  on  the  knob  with  a  belayin'- 
pin,  an'  it  nigh  finished  me  for  good.  Guess  he 
thought  he  killed  me.  Anyways,  when  I  got  sense 
again,  two  days  after,  Bagshot — he  was  there,  sort 
o'  supercargo — told  me  he  thought  I  was  dead  and 
had  told  Wentworth  so.  Went  got  plumb  scared— 
didn't  wait  to  find  out — just  skipped  right  then- 
jumped  overboard  and  swum  ashore.  As  I  said  I 
didn't  see  him  again  but  I  did  hear  as  how  he  got 
to  be  skipper  of  his  own  ship,  years  after,  an'  got 
rich.  He  got  away  with  me,  anyhow;  and  Bag- 
shot  he  told  me  as  how  he  got  away  with  the  money, 
too — money  that  didn't  belong  to  him.  But  on 
that  last  p'int  I  found  out  later  that  Simeon  lied— 
he  certainly  wa'n't  above  lyin'.  I  know  for  sure  that 
though  Went  was  some  high  spirited  he  wasn't  no 
thief.  We  was  just  boys  together,  an'-  What's 
up,  sir?" 


244  THE   RED   PAPER 

For  John  Wentworth  had  risen  slowly  to  his  feet, 
his  face  gray.  "As  heaven  is  above  me?"  he  fairly 
groaned.  "My  father  has  been  fighting  a  shadow 
for  over  thirty  years — a  shadow — a  hideous  ghost 
held  up  to  him  by  the  man  we  are  after!  Bagshot 
is  twice  a  murderer!'' 

Harper  looked  stunned;  the  stage-driver  appeared 
puzzled.  "What  d'ye  mean?"  he  asked,  pausing 
in  the  act  of  lighting  the  pipe  he  had  been  filling. 
Wentworth  turned  to  him,  his  face  becoming  radiant. 
"I  thank  God  for  this  meeting,  sir!  It  has  been  more 
than  chance!  You  may  laugh  at  me  when  I  tell  you 
T  think  it  is  God's  justice.  The  man  who  struck 
you  was  my  father.  He  always  thought  he  had 
killed  you.  and  Simeon  Bagshot  held  him  to  that 
belief,  on  the  strength  of  it  blackmailing  him  before 
he  killed  him — and  killed  him  because  he  would 
not  betray  his  trust  and  deliver  the  paper,  the  value 
of  which  both  knew.  The  fancy  that  he  was  a  crim 
inal  worried  the  joy  from  my  father's  life.  WThy 
did  he  not  investigate?  The  ghost  would  have  been 
easily  laid !" 

"Be  you  his  son — sure?"  shouted  the  old  man, 
dropping  his  pipe  and  getting  to  his  feet. 

"Yes,  without  a  doubt!  My  father  was  Captain 
Wentworth — was  commander  of  his  own  ship — and 
did  make  fortunate  voyages  and  investments.  He 
told  me  of  some  crime  he  had  committed  when  a 
boy  at  sea  and  while  in  a  passion." 


THE   STAGE-DRIVER  245 

And  Wentworth,  hurriedly  and  with  some  par 
donable  incoherence,  retailed  the  story  of  the  night 
his  father  died. 

Old  Thorp  stood  bareheaded,  listening  eagerly; 
then  he  dashed  his  hat  to  the  floor  of  the  veranda, 
and  grasped  the  young  man's  hand. 

"Hain't  got  the  least  feelin'  agin'  ye,  son — nor 
yer  father,  either.  But  I  savvy  Bagshot  like  readin' 
his  log.  I  know  him  though  I  hain't  seen  him  for 
more'n  rive  year.  Ye  got  to  get  him,  Cave,  you 
just  got  to  get  him !  Tell  me  what  you've  done,  an' 
why  ye  think  he's  come  this  way." 

The  sheriff  explained  the  course  of  his  reasoning, 
and  the  old  man  laughed  in  derision. 

"You  hain't  been  wonderful  smart  for  an  officer, 
Cave!  I  see  the  hull  thing!" 

"How?"  asked  the  sheriff,  flushing  under  his 
tan. 

"This  way.  Bagshot  was  bound  to  change  his 
plans  after  the  muss  Planet  had  with  our  friend 
here.  He  was  afraid  the  gal  told  what  she  knew. 
That's  one  thing.  Next,  he  darsen't  go  nowhere 
far  by  railroad  'cause  of  the  telegraph.  Well,  what 
has  he  done?  He's  bound  to  come  in  this  direction, 
final,  if  he's  goin'  to  either  Kerrsville  or  the  mine. 
You  can  gamble  that  he  drove  that  ambulance 
with  the  gal  in  it  to  Corbyn  or  New  Brunfels — jest 
to  throw  you  off  the  track — an'  he  done  it. 

"Cave,  he's  behind  ye,  not  ahead  o'  ye.     When 


246  THE   RED   PAPER 

he  comes  up  outfitted  from  below  he'll  give  Boerne 
a  wide  berth.  He's  a  foxy  cuss,  and  him  an'  the 
greaser  make  a  strong  team — a  reg'lar  Injun  team." 

While  the  sheriff  was  conversing  with  his  father 
Went  worth  had  moved  from  the  veranda,  followed 
by  Harper.  His  still  growing  emotion  had  become 
too  great  to  allow  him  to  remain  with  the  others. 
The  whole  matter  was  plain  to  him;  no  reasoning, 
no  further  proof  was  necessary;  events  fitted  too 
nicely  for  any  but  one  conclusion  to  be  drawn,  and 
such  conclusion  came  to  the  young  man  with  the 
force  of  an  absolute  certainty.  His  father  had  been 
hounded,  ruined,  and,  constructively  at  least,  mur 
dered  by  a  liar.  Now  the  captain's  name  was  at 
last  free  from  taint,  and  he,  his  son.  might  look  the 
world  in  the  face.  To  the  young  man  it  was  like 
a  cloud  passing  from  before  the  sun. 

But  Bagshot?  It  shook  Wentworth  even  to  think 
of  him,  and  he  could  barely  contain  himself  as  Har 
per  referred  to  the  fugitives.  The  old  man  on  the 
veranda  looked  at  the  two  friends,  then  bent  his 
mouth  to  the  ear  of  his  son. 

"That  young  feller  will  shoot  Simeon  Bagshot 
on  sight,"  said  the  stage-driver,  in  a  whisper.  "You 
ain't  never  goin'  to  take  Simeon  alive — or  I  can't 
read  faces  no  more." 

"I  won't  blame  him,"  returned  the  sheriff.  "But 
he  won't  kill  him,  nor  we  won't  serve  the  warrant 
by  setting  down  here.  Those  two  fellows  with  me 


THE    STAGE-DRIVER  247 

don't  lack  no  sand,  and  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  turn 
ing  back." 

"Shore  not,  Cave!  'Cause  that's  what  Bagshot 
looks  for!  He  won't  touch  Boerne;  an'  he'll  go 
round  Comfort,  likely,  not  hankerin'  after  no  settle 
ments.  But  he's  got  to  cross  the  Guadaloupe  unless 
he  takes  to  the  desert,  which  ain't  understandable. 
Can't  ye  see?" 

"You  mean  we  got  to  lay  for  him  at  the  Guada 
loupe  ford?" 

"Perasely"  said  the  driver,  bringing  his  great 
hands  together  with  the  sound  of  a  pistol-shot. 
"Camp  right  there  until  they  come  up — an'  there 
ye  have  it!  Bagshot  ain't  lookin'  for  no  trouble 
forward.  I  bet  he's  breakin'  his  neck  lookin'  for 
dust  behind." 

"It  is  the  best  way!"  said  the  sheriff,  nodding 
his  head  from  sudden  conviction.  "We'll  outfit 
for  camping  and  go  on  to-night." 

"Now  yer  talking'!"  said  his  father,  rising  and 
pulling  out  a  silver  watch.  "An'  I  got  to  begin 
to  hook  up  the  stage,  too,  So  long,  son!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 
AT  THE  FORD 

FIVE  miles  or  more  south  of  the  small  settle 
ment  bearing  the  significant  name  of  Com 
fort,    the   Guaclaloupe   River  winds   through 
soil  black  with  natural  richness,   and   at  its   single 
available  ford  the  road  leading  northwest,  here  but 
a  wide  trail  over  the  prairie,  crosses  the  stream  at 
the  only  point  within  miles  where  there  is  a  falling 
away  of  the  low  but  steep  bluffs. 

For  many  years  the  land  has  been  safe  against 
the  roving  Apache  and  the  predatory  Mexican,  and 
is  fairly  safe  from  the  lawlessness  which  once  char 
acterized  the  plains.  But  there  are  still  sporadic 
cases  of  violence  of  the  old  order  though  Texas  has 
become  modernized.  Life  and  property  have  more 
protection  than  the  mere  word  of  the  law;  yet  even 
at  the  present  day  though  men  are  not  allowed  to 
carry  arms  indiscriminately  against  their  brothers 
it  is  done  covertly,  for  a  stranger  met  out  on  the 
llanos  is  very  apt  to  prove  an  enemy.  The  adage 
that  applies  to  the  African  desert  might  largely 

apply  to-day  to  the  great  Western  plains. 

248 


219 


On  the  south  bank  of  the  Guadaloupc  the  river 
margin  is  overgrown  with  a  thick  tangle  of  chaparral, 
post-oaks,  nr.(l  low  cedars;  but  on  the  north  side  a 
few  live-oaks  sprang  from  as  fair  a  reach  of  grass 
land  as  the  eye  ever  beheld.  It  is  a  rich  country; 
the  ranches  are  immense  in  size,  and  in  the  interval 
between  Boerne  and  the  old  German  settlement  of 
Comfort  there  are  but  few  houses  to  be  seen  by  the 
traveler  on  the  main  trail. 

It  was  in  the  shade  of  one  of  the  great  trees  on 
the  north  side  of  the  river,  a  little  removed  from  the 
ford  itself,  that  the  pursuing  party  camped  and 
waited.  Save  for  the  addition  of  a  lead-horse  carry 
ing  provisions  their  outfit  was  unchanged  and  they 
had  none  of  the  luxuries  of  a  picnic  camp.  Thorp 
had  been  busy  and  thorough,  yet  the  only  additional 
news  he  had  gleaned  in  a  lone  trip  to  Comfort  was 
negative:  no  ambulance  containing  a  lady  had  yet 
passed  through  the  place. 

The  wait  was  a  welcome  rest;  but  to  Wentworth, 
with  yet  another  indictment  against  the  man  he 
hated  with  his  whole  soul,  every  hour  of  inactivity 
increased  his  nervous  tension.  The  horses  were 
picketed  in  a  thicket,  that  a  sight  of  them  might 
not  arouse  the  suspicion  of  the  fugitives  or  tempt 
a  stray  desperado.  And  danger  from  the  last  char 
acter  was  not  little. 

So  the  party  settled  down.  One  day — two  days — 
three  days  passed,  and  there  had  been  no  sign  of 


250  THE   RED   PAPER 

Bagshot;  indeed,  there  was  hardly  a  sight  of  any 
one.  It  was  now  early  in  October,  but  the  land 
about  gave  no  such  evidence  of  the  advancing 
season  as  might  be  noted  in  the  North.  In  the  sun 
the  heat  was  yet  severe,  the  sky  a  glorious  expanse 
of  blue;  there  was  little  or  no  wind  nor  were  there 
the  "gulf-clouds"  which  arc  usually  a  feature  of  the 
Texas  firmament. 

Talk  had  languished  among  the  three,  but  as 
Thorp  stood  looking  over  the  broad  expanse  under 
his  eye  he  turned  to  the  two  lying  beneath  the  tree. 

"This  ain't  exactly  the  weather  I  look  for  at  this 
time  of  year, "  he  said. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  asked  Wentworth, 
who  had  been  smoking  in  gloomy  silence. 

"Nothing — in  one  way.  It  suits  us  all  right,  but 
there's  a  stillness  about  things  that  strikes  me  as 
meaning  business  later.  The  nights  ain't  cool  enough, 
and  the  clouds  don't  form  and  fly  like  they  ought 
to.  Things  seem  to  be  holding  their  breath.  Don't 
you  notice  it?" 

"It's  lovely  weather— and  if  it  is  holding  its 
breath  it's  doing  about  what  I  am.  Taken  with 
the  rest  of  it,  it  is  damned  monotonous." 

And  it  had  become  monotonous,  this  unrewarded 
waiting.  Even  the  sheriff's  face  began  to  wear  a 
less  confident  look;  Harper  was  openly  discontented 
though  he  always  wore  a  good-natured  countenance, 
and  his  growls  were  without  venom  or  fault-finding. 


AT   THE   FORD  251 

Wentworth  fairly  twitched  from  suppressed  nervous 
ness.  He  began  to  suspect  that  Bagshot  had  given 
them  the  slip  and  had  not  intended  to  cross  the 
Guadaloupe  at  all.  The  thought  was  maddening. 
Each  man  held  the  same  suspicion  and  each  man 
concealed  it  from  the  others.  Wentworth,  now 
hardened  and  rested,  had  made  no  formal  protest 
as  yet,  but  he  felt  that  he  must  surely  cry  out  against 
another  day  of  inaction. 

For  besides  the  disappointment  and  the  dull 
passing  of  the  hours  there  was  little  or  nothing  to 
be  seen  of  life.  Once  in  a  while  a  man  on  horseback 
passed  over  the  trail,  but  the  small,  single  track 
railroad  had  absorbed  most  of  the  travel  and  haul 
ing;  no  wagons  lumbered  over  the  wide  and  shallow 
ford,  and  the  faint  whistle  of  the  locomotive  which 
once  in  a  while  drifted  from  the  distance  was  like 
a  cry  of  triumph.  The  old,  wild  days,  the  provin 
cial,  devil-may-care  days,  the  days  of  makeshifts, 
seemed  to  be  gone  forever. 

As  the  sheriff  made  his  remark  about  the  unusual 
weather  he  walked  away.  It  had  been  on  the  tip 
of  Wentworth' s  tongue  to  sound  him  as  to  his  future 
plans,  but  he  let  the  chance  go  by  and  the  day  for 
such  inquiry  never  dawned. 

At  night  the  watchers  had  taken  turns  picketing 
the  ford  on  horseback.  The  evening  of  the  third 
day,  which  he  swore  to  himself  should  be  the  last 
of  his  inactivity,  Wentworth  took  the  early  watch 


252  THE   RED   PAPER 

from  eight  to  twelve.  Nothing  broke  the  silence 
save  the  swish  of  the  risen  gulf- wind;  nothing  met 
his  vision  save  the  now  familiar  landscape  lying 
broad  and  clear,  drenched  in  the  light  of  a.  full, 
southern  moon. 

At  midnight  he  returned  to  camp  in  a  decided  ill 
humor,  staked  out  his  horse,  and  brought  in  Harper's, 
which  was  already  saddled  for  instant  mounting. 
Quietly  routing  out  the  deputy,  he  fell  into  his  place 
and  went  instantly  to  sleep.  Thorp  did  not  stir; 
he  was  to  go  on  at  four  o'clock. 

Harper  stretched  himself,  got  into  his  saddle  and, 
riding  over  the  moonlit  ford,  took  his  station  on  the 
rising  ground  beyond,  and  there  sat  motionless. 
He  could  see  a  mile  or  more  to  the  south,  and  if 
anything  came  over  the  trail  he  would  have  ample 
time  to  ride  in  and  arouse  the  others.  An  hour 
passed.  Harper  found  he  was  nodding. 

He  pulled  himself  together,  and  determined  to 
keep  himself  awake  by  smoking;  but  on  feeling  his 
pocket  he  discovered  he  had  no  cigars.  Deciding 
to  return  and  get  a  supply  from  the  pack,  he  splashed 
back  through  the  ford;  then,  thinking  he  might 
disturb  the  others  by  approaching  on  horseback,  he 
tied  his  mount  to  a  shin-oak  near  the  bank  of  the 
river  and  walked  silently  into  camp.  Wentworth 
woke  as  Harper  came  in.  "See  anything?"  he 
asked. 

"Not  a  thing, "  was  the  whispered  answer.     "Came 


AT   THE   FORD  253 

in  to  get  some  weeds."  The  young  man  swore  and 
rolled  over,  composing  himself  for  another  nap. 

Harper  had  been  away  from  his  post  twenty 
minutes.  Obtaining  the  cigars  he  started  back  to 
his  horse,  and,  as  he  came  to  within  a  hundred  feet 
of  where  he  had  tied  the  animal,  he  saw  a  mounted 
man  halted  beside  it,  a  black  figure  silhouetted 
against  the  bright  sky. 

"Stop  where  ye  be,  stranger!"  said  the  horseman 
in  a  low  voice;  and  a  revolver  glistened  in  the  moon 
light. 

Harper  halted  abruptly. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded,  letting  his  hand 
go  to  his  hip. 

"Quit  that,  friend!  I  only  wants  to  know  if  you 
have  seen  an  ambulance  with  two  men  and  a  woman 
cross  the  ford  to-day.  I'm  Deputy  Sheriff  Folger, 
of  Kendall  County.  Stand  just  where  ye  be,  an' 
answer." 

At  that  moment  Wentworth,  alert  to  anything 
unusual,  thought  he  heard  voices.  He  sat  up  and 
rubbed  his  eyes,  then  throwing  aside  his  blanket 
got  to  his  feet  and  walked  out  toward  the  ford.  As 
he  caught  sight  of  the  _two  men  he  quickened  his 
pace;  he  was  probably  a  third  of  his  way  from  camp 
as  Harper  answered  the  man  on  horseback. 

"If  you  are  an  officer  you  needn't  fear  me.  I'm 
a  deputy,  myself,"  returned  Harper.  "I'm  looking 
for  that  same  ambulance." 


2,54  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Oh!  Ye  be,  hey?  Come  up  closer.  Be  ye 
alone?" 

"You  see  I  am  alone!"  said  Harper,  stepping 
toward  the  man,  his  suspicions  allayed.  ''But  I 
have —  He  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  at 
that  moment  the  stranger  caught  sight  of  Wentworth 
coming  rapidly  toward  them. 

''Alone,  be  ye?  Ye  liar!"  he  shouted,  half-turning 
his  horse.  With  that  exclamation  he  leveled  his 
revolver  and  fired. 

Harper's  right  arm  jerked  straight  out;  he  spun 
around  and,  with  a  bubbling  groan,  fell  to  the  grass. 
As  he  went  down  the  horseman  raised  his  weapon 
and  fired  a  shot  at  Wentworth,  but  without  effect; 
then  he  jerked  free  the  rein  of  Harper's  horse,  and, 
wheeling,  drove  back  through  the  ford  with  the 
captured  animal. 

All  this  happened  in  an  instant,  and  all  fell 
under  the  eye  of  Wentworth.  Not  knowing  the 
conditions  beyond  the  fact  that  his  friend  was  shot 
and  himself  fired  at,  he  drew  his  own  revolver,  and 
deliberately  kneeling  on  the  dew-covered  prairie 
leveled  at  the  retreating  figure,  holding  the  weapon 
with  both  hands  as  though  it  were  a  gun,  and 
fired. 

In  the  clear  light  he  saw  the  man  sway  in  his  saddle, 
but  the  fellow  did  not  lose  his  seat;  instead,  he 
turned  and  fired  again  at  Wentworth,  that  shot,  like 
the  former,  going  wild.  Harper's  horse,  now  cast 


loose,  went  tearing  back  over  the  plain.     The  stranger 
fled  down  the  trail  and  disappeared. 

Aroused  by  the  shots,  Thorp  came  hurrying  up, 
swearing  as  he  ran,  and  was  beside  Harper  almost 
as  soon  as  Wentworth.  Together  they  lifted  the 
wounded  man,  who  looked  up  perfectly  conscious. 

"Where  are  you  hit?"  cried  John  in  a  frenzy  of 
fear. 

"Through  the  lung — right  lung — high  up!  The 
shock  of  the  slug  knocked  me  over!  I  ought  to  have 
had  it  through  the  head  for  being  such  a  forsaken 
idiot!" 

He  spoke  without  great  distress,  though  weak  from 
shock.  "Thank  God  it's  no  worse!"  said  the  sheriff. 
"A  clean  shot  through  the  right  lung  isn't  the  cus- 
sedness  thing  that  could  happen,  though  that's  bad 
enough!  We  must  get  you  somewhere  at  once! 
Abercrombie's  ranch  is  two  miles  back,  and  one  up 
the  river.  There's  no  doctor  at  Comfort,  but  there 
is  in  Boerne — a  northern  man  with  a  sick  \vife. 
Abercrombie's  is  the  best  point!  I'll  fetch  the 
horses.  Can  you  ride?" 

"I'll  ride  all  right,  I  reckon,"  said  Harper  dog 
gedly,  struggling  to  his  feet  with  the  help  of  Went 
worth  while  the  sheriff  started  off  on  a  run.  In 
a  few  minutes  Thorp  returned  with  three  horses; 
Harper,  his  face  pale  in  the  moonlight,  leaned  heavily 
on  his  friend. 

"I  found  your  animal  standing  with  the  others," 


256  THE   RED   PAPER 

said  the  sheriff.  "We'll  come  back  for  the  pack-horse 
to-morrow.  Can  you  get  up?  Yes?  Now,  then!" 

Together  they  lifted  the  wounded  man  to  the 
saddle.  Harper  sat  without  help,  and  was  losing 
but  little  blood. 

"Can  you  tell  me  what  happened?"  asked  the 
sheriff  as  they  crossed  the  ford  and  moved  slowly 
along.  Harper  briefly  detailed  the  adventure. 

"Looks  queer!"  said  the  other.  "No  tellin'  what 
it  means!  Horse-rustler,  perhaps — -except  about  the 
ambulance!  No!  By  the  Dev;l  in  I' ell!  I  see!" 
he  suddenly  exclaimed,  bringing  his  hand  to  his 
thigh  with  a  resounding  slap.  "By  the  Lord,  it's 
Bagshot!  He  shied  at  the  ford!  The  fellow  was  a 
scout — an  outrider  sent  ahead!  They  were  close 
behind  him,  and  he  has  turned  them  aside!  I'm 
on  to  him!  Keep  straight  ahead — I'll  see  you  later." 

With  that  the  sheriff  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
dashed  off  into  the  moonlit  space;  the  others  followed 
slowly. 

Nearly  an  hour  went  by,  the  wounded  man  bearing 
up  well  though  Wentworth  was  beginning  to  worry 
over  the  long  absence  of  Thorp  and  the  lack  of  a 
sign  of  the  ranch-house.  He  was  wondering  if  by 
chance  he  had  not  become  bewildered  and  taken  a 
wrong  direction  when  he  heard  the  sheriff's  shout, 
and  finally  saw  him,  a  dark  spot  on  the  bright  prairie. 
He  was  dismounted,  and  bending  over  the  body  of 
a  man  stretched  on  the  ground. 


AT   THE   FORD  257 

"You  potted  your  game!"  said  the  sheriff  quietly 
as  the  two  rode  up.  "I  am  right!  He  was  their 
outrider.  I  went  on  until  I  found  their  wheel-tracks, 
and  followed  them  until  I  crossed  up  with  this.  I 
know  him!  He's  Rail  Tucker,  an  old-time  rustler 
and  a  jail-bird."  The  man  on  the  ground  opened 
his  eyes.  "Which  way  did  they  go?"  demanded 
the  sheriff,  bending  until  his  mouth  was  at  the  ear 
of  the  prostrate  outlaw. 

"Up  th'  river — round  the  head,"  came  plainly 
but  feebly  from  the  lips  of  the  man.  He  was  clearly 
dying.  "Curse  his  soul!"  he  broke  out  with  fierce 
ness.  "He  wouldn't  let  me  in  the  wagon  when 
he  knowed  I  was  plugged  for  fair!  He's  a  coward!" 

"Is  there  a  woman  with  them?"  asked  John,  who 
had  dropped  from  his  horse. 

The  man  nodded. 

"Good  gal — wanted  to  help  me — but — oh —  I'll 
tell  all!  They  were  goin'  to  Kerrsville — then  to  Fort 
Terrel — then — oh — gimme  whiskey! " 

The  stimulant  was  given,  and  the  man  revived. 
"Did— did  I  kill  the  other  feller?"  he  asked  weakly. 

"No — only  wounded  him.  He's  with  us,"  an 
swered  the  sheriff;  then  to  Wentworth  he  said: 
"Better  go  on  and  get  Harper  along;  he  can't  stand 
much  more.  Abercrombie  is  only  a  mile  further. 
You  can't  miss  it.  I'll  stay  till  this  is  over.  He's 
shot  through  the  body,  near  the  heart." 

"Ye  are   a  gentleman,    Cave.     Ye  always  was, " 


258  THE   RED   PAPER 

said  the  wounded  man,  rolling  his  eyes.  "Treated 
me  white,  Cave!  I  hain't  got  nothin'  to  say.  No 
prayers  nor  cuddlin'.  I've  been  tough,  but  I'm  all 
in  now!" 

His  head  drooped.  In  less  than  a  minute  more 
his  whole  body  seemed  suddenly  to  turn  to  water, 
and  he  slipped  through  the  grasp  of  the  sheriff,  wrho 
had  been  supporting  him.  When  they  turned  him 
over  he  was  dead. 

As  nothing  could  be  done  with  him  they  left  his 
body  lying  where  it  had  fallen,  his  face  to  the  moon 
light. 

Capturing  his  grazing  horse,  the  three  went  on, 
Harper  still  bearing  up.  As  they  rode,  Thorp 
pointed  to  the  ground.  Here  and  there  on  the  dew- 
laden  grass  could  be  plainly  distinguished  the  tracks 
of  wheels. 

"By  the  Lord!"  said  the  sheriff,  "we  know  that 
the  villains  are  not  behind  us  now.  The  chase  has 
just  begun." 

Soon  after  they  were  thundering  at  the  door  of 
the  Abercrombie  ranch. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  DESERT 

NOT  until  the  doctor  had  been  brought  from 
Boernc,  thirty  miles  away,  the  hardy 
Scotch  ranch-owner  volunteering  for  the 
ride,  would  Wentworth  listen  to  Thorp's  importu 
nities  to  push  on  after  Bagshot.  The  heart  of  the 
sheriff  was  now  in  his  professional  work,  while  Went- 
worth's  loyalty  to  his  friend  kept  him  from  at  once 
continuing  the  pursuit.  It  was  when  the  desperate 
sheriff  at  last  reminded  the  young  man  of  his  oath 
as  a  deputy,  and  Harper  himself  had  urged  him  that 
Wentworth  finally  consented  to  go. 

By  then  the  surgeon  had  dressed  the  wound  and 
pronounced  it  trivial  to  a  man  of  Harper's  con 
stitution  and  physique,  the  ball  having  passed  clean 
through  his  body  at  the  apex  of  the  lung.  The 
patient  would  be  up  in  ten  days,  he  said,  if  he  obeyed 
orders  and  no  complications  set  in.  And  Aber- 
crombie  promised  the  best  of  nursing. 

But  it  was  fourteen  hours  before  the  pursuit  was 
again  taken  up  by  Thorp  and  Wentworth.  It  was 


260  THE   RED   PAPER 

growing  toward  evening  and  the  shadows  lay  long 
upon  the  ground  when  they  cleared  the  limits  of 
the  ranch  and  plunged  into  what,  to  the  northerner, 
was  an  uncharted  sea  of  prairie.  So  sure  was  the 
sheriff  that  Bagshot  would  be  found  in  Kerrsville 
that  they  traveled  with  only  scanty  provision  for 
the  future;  there  was  no  lead-horse  now;  they 
were  flying  light  in  both  possessions  and  spirits. 

Even  though  hours  had  passed  the  track  of  the 
ambulance  had  not  become  entirely  obliterated, 
but  led  on  into  a  wilderness  of  space.  On  the  grass 
the  marks  of  the  wheels  had  disappeared,  but  they 
were  plain  on  the  patches  of  sand  and  where  the 
verdure  thinned  out — patches  that  grew  more  and 
more  frequent — which  were  the  advance  guard  of  the 
partial  desert  away  to  the  west.  There  had  been  no 
rain  or  sufficient  wind  to  disturb  the  easily  seen  ruts. 

For  the  first  ten  miles  the  men  rode  rapidly  and 
in  silence,  the  trail  tending  due  west  and  never 
swerving  toward  the  Guadaloupe.  Finally  Thorp 
broke  the  silence  between  them.  "If  they  went  to 
Kerrsville  the  track  must  trend  to  the  north  very 
soon,"  he  said.  "Bagshot  now  knows  we  are  after 
him;  Rail  Tucker  opened  his  eyes  to  that;  so  instead 
of  going  on  to  Comfort  or  crossing  the  Gaudaloupe 
by  way  of  the  ford  where  he  knows  he  would  be  caught, 
he  whips  over  the  plains,  hoping  to  get  around  us. 
He  may  be  panicky  by  this,  and  shy  about  going  to 
Kerrsville;  perhaps  he'll  go  on  to  Fort  Terrel.  If 


THE   DESERT  261 

he  does  we'll  have  him,  for  all  his  start.  Twenty 
miles  farther  on  the  land  is  waterless.  I  see  by  the 
track  they  have  four  mules  to  the  ambulance,  and 
there  is  one  man  on  horseback.  They  sure  have 
grub  enough  to  last  them.  The  only  thing  that  can 
balk  us  is  lack  of  water." 

"How  far  is  it  to  Fort  Terrel?"    asked  John. 

'''About  fifty  miles,  as  the  crow  flies.  It's  close 
to  the  edge  of  Crockett  County,  and  water  guess 
work  for  most  of  the  way.  Heaven  help  the  woman, 
if  he's  aiming  for  Terrel." 

Wentworth  groaned  inwardly. 

"But  you  will  follow?"    he  asked  anxiously. 

There  was  no  doubting  the  spirit  of  the  answer: 
"By  the  Lord!  I'll  follow  them  to  the  coast;  and 
then  on  into  the  Pacific,  if  it  is  necessary.  We  can 
go  where  they  do.  I  have  something  at  stake  here— 
and  I  have  never  lost  a  man  on  whose  trail  I  once 
camped." 

Wentworth  set  his  teeth  and  rode  on.  That 
night  they  slept  by  a  branch  of  the  Guadaloupe, 
stopping  only  long  enough  to  rest  their  horses; 
then  they  pushed  forward  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
As  Wentworth  lay  under  the  stars,  he  wondered 
how  it  fared  with  the  girl  he  loved.  At  what  a 
frightful  inconvenience  to  herself  was  she  being 
dragged  along  by  those  men.  How  Bagshot  must 
curse  her  presence,  a  presence  of  which  he  dared 
not  rid  himself. 


262  THE   RED   PAPER 

The  young  man  could  not  know,  nor  did  he  guess, 
that  Bagshot  was  now  more  afraid  of  his  niece  than 
she  was  of  him.  Neither  was  he  aware  that  his 
enemy  trembled  more  at  the  possible  consequences 
of  possessing  a  paper  representing  fabulous  wealth 
and  belonging  to  another  than  fear  of  being  charged 
with  a  murder  which  could  not  be  proven.  It  was 
not  as  a  murderer  he  was  now  fleeing,  but  as  a  thief 
in  a  country  where  thieving  was  looked  upon  as  a 
greater  sin  than  killing. 

There  was  but  one  way  out  of  his  dilemma  now. 
His  niece  should  be  forced  to  give  him  an  interest— 
a  legal  interest — in  her  father's  map.  To  continue 
to  act  without  it  might  be  his  undoing;  with  it  he 
could  face  the  world — could  be  but  shake  from  his 
heels  the  untiring  Nemesis  who  was  following  him 
in  the  shape  of  old  Wentworth's  son. 

Fear!  It  was  worse.  He  must  escape  from  the 
vampire  who  kept  sleep  from  his  eyes  and  ease  from 
his  heart.  Between  him  and  Wentworth  law  was  a 
mockery.  It  was  war  to  the  knife.  He  would  kill 
him  on  sight. 

Bagshot  hoped  that  it  had  been  Wentworth  who 
had  been  shot  down  at  the  ford,  but  he  couldn't  be 
sure;  and  now  he  dared  not  stop  at  Kerrsville.  He 
decided  that  if  he  went  on  to  Fort  Terrel  he  might 
terrify  his  niece,  who,  under  suffering,  would  sign 
a\vay  a  part  or  the  whole  of  her  rights.  They 
should  not  appear  valuable  to  her — he  would  see 


THE    DESERT  263 

to  that.  In  any  event,  he  would  be  near  the 
mine. 

In  these  plans  the  Mexican  concurred.  He  would 
have  concurred  in  anything  that  kept  him  near  the 
girl,  as  he  would  have  protested  against  anything 
that  would  have  parted  them.  In  the  depths  of  his 
Latin  heart  he  knew  Grace  Mcrridale  detested  him, 
even  though  his  passion  for  her  had  grown  to  a  white 
heat;  but  with  the  line  disregard  for  matters  of 
delicacy  characterizing  natures  such  as  his,  he  hoped 
to  be  able  to  wear  out  her  opposition.  He  had  no 
objections  to  her  sufferings;  suffering  might  break 
her  spirit  and  make  her  an  easier  prey.  At  all 
events — the  longer  the  route  the  longer  Grace  Mer- 
ridale  would  be  near  him.  With  the  veneer  of  his 
kind  he  treated  her  with  exaggerated  courtesy, 
which  meant  nothing,  and  really  he  stood  between 
the  maiden  and  her  uncle  who  now  almost  hated  her. 
Planet's  knowledge  of  the  country — a  knowledge 
superior  to  Bagshot's,  made  him  the  present  guide  of 
the  excursion. 

As  for  the  wounded  scout  who  had  been  engaged 
as  a  fitting  aid  to  the  desperate  enterprise — Bag- 
shot  with  an  oath  had  refused  his  admission  to  the 
ambulance;  and  Planet,  who  was  driving,  only 
shrugged  his  shoulders  to  the  girl's  appeal  for  the 
weakening  man,  and  sent  his  four  mules  at  a  break 
neck  pace  over  the  smooth  prairie.  When  the  scout 
finally  fell  from  his  horse  the  difficulty  was  settled; 


264  THE   RED    PAPER 

dead  men  told  no  tales.  The  mules  were  kept  up 
at  full  speed  until  cursing  and  the  lash  no  longer 
affected  them. 

All  this  was  unknown  to  the  young  man  as  he 
lay  under  the  stars,  though  the  knowledge  of  every 
detail  came  later.  In  the  morning  he  was  heavy 
for  want  of  sleep,  and  the  day  broke  with  a  promise 
of  terrific  heat,  and  at  an  hour  when  it  should  have 
been  cool. 

"I  don't  tumble  to  this  sort  of  weather!"  said 
Thorp,  as  he  cinched  on  his  saddle  after  their  brief 
morning  meal.  "This  is  away  out  of  plumb  with 
the  season,  and  I  reckon  it  may  mean  something  on 
the  way.  How  are  you  this  A.M.?"  He  spoke 
cheerfully. 

"Rocky,"  was  the  short  answer. 

"A  poor  state  to  start  on  in  and  under  a  hot  sun; 
but  there's  no  time  to  waste  on  frills  and  feelings! 
Come  on.  Lord,  but  the  trail  is  as  clear  as  a  rail 
road  track;  not  a  breath  of  wind  to  fill  their  wheel 
marks!  I  wonder  if  they  savvy  the  signal  they  leave 
behind!" 

But  later  even  the  sheriff  became  quiet.  By  then 
the  horses  had  reduced  their  speed  to  a  slow  walk 
and  urging  did  not  mend  matters.  Presently  there 
came  a  little  wind,  scorching  puffs  of  air  that  moved 
the  loose  sand.  It  made  it  harder  to  keep  the  guid 
ing  wheel  tracks  in  sight  as  in  places  the  ruts  were 
smoothed  over,  and  it  was  only  at  intervals  the 


THE   DESERT  265 

pursuers  could  see  signs  of  the  wheels  they  were 
following. 

This  made  but  little  difference  to  the  sheriff. 
The  hope  that  Bagshot  had  turned  north  to  Kerrs- 
ville  had  long  since  left  him;  Kerrsville  was  now 
behind,  not  ahead  nor  on  one  side;  Bagshot  had 
evidently  concluded  to  take  the  desperate  chance 
of  reaching  Fort  Terrel.  Once  there,  if  menaced 
he  could  desert  all  and  plunge  into  the  western 
wilderness. 

Late  in  the  day  the  dogged  and  exhausted  pursuers 
entered  a  treeless  country.  Grease-wood  and  sage- 
bush  took  the  place  of  taller  growths,  and  bunches 
of  cacti  told  of  the  character  of  the  waste  over  which 
they  now  traveled.  Not  a  water-hole  did  they 
find,  save  two  that  had  dried  up;  the  liquid  in  Went- 
worth's  canteen  was  hot  and  repellent.  The  two 
men  now  rarely  spoke,  because  talking  had  become 
a  painful  effort.  Lips  and  tongues  were  dry,  swollen, 
and  in  danger  of  cracking. 

The  night  came  down  blue-black,  for  the  waning 
moon  rose  late. 

Wentworth  sat  dejected;  he  knew,  strong  though 
he  was,  that  another  day  like  that  would  see  him 
close  to  his  end,  while  to  go  back  would  be  as  bad  as 
to  go  on.  What  were  the  others  doing  for  water? 
He  asked  Thorp. 

"Better  off  than  we  be,  son,"  said  the  sheriff. 
"They  have  a  cask  aboard,  if  they  ain't  fools." 


266  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Will  they  fight  if  we  catch  up  to  them?" 

"Fight?  Say,  son,  do  you  think  any  one  who  is 
desp'rit  enough  to  drive  into  this  hell  wouldn't  be 
desp'rit  enough  to  fight?  Yes,  they'll  fight,  all  right 
-and  shoot  to  kill.  You  ain't  out  on  no  picnic, 
but  this  is  a  traverse  I  didn't  count  on.  Thought 
I'd  have  'em  by  this." 

Wentworth  relapsed  into  silence  from  sheer  exhaus 
tion.  His  head  fell  forward,  and  he  slept  heavily, 
dreamlessly.  It  seemed  but  a  minute  before  the 
sheriff  touched  him. 

"All  ready  son!    The  day  is  breaking!" 

And  they  went  on.  Wentworth  never  forgot  that 
day,  neither  did  he  ever  remember  much  of  it.  By 
ten  o'clock  the  wagon-tracks  were  lost,  only  once 
in  a  while  were  there  indications  of  the  passing 
of  the  outfit.  By  noon  the  young  man  had 
drained  the  last  drop  of  the  nauseous  fluid  in  his 
canteen,  and  which  now  tasted  like  nectar;  he 
sucked  the  neck  of  the  bottle,  and  was  suffering 
tortures  from  thirst  and  the  blinding  heat  of  the 
sun.  He  turned  in  desperation  to  his  silent  com 
panion. 

"I  would  give  all  I  have  for  a  drink  of  cold 
water!  I  would  give  all  I  own  to  wallow  in  the 
gutter-slush  of  New  York!  Slush — filthy  snow 
water!" 

He  reeled  in  his  saddle;  his  head  felt  big  to  the 
bursting-point,  and  the  heat  of  the  blasting,  un- 


THE   DESERT  267 

dimmed  sun  felt  like  a  weight  he  was  carrying.  He 
tore  the  hat  from  his  head. 

"Shut  up,  sir!"  said  the  sheriff  fiercely  in  a  thick 
voice.  "Put  on  that  hat!  Never  talk  water,  nor 
even  think  water  in  the  desert.  We  ought  to 
hit  Paintrock  Creek  in  ten  miles,  if  you  keep 
going." 

"Ten  miles!  Ten  thousand  miles!  I  think  I  see  a 
lake!  Look!" 

Wentworth's  mind  was  beginning  to  fail. 

"  Mirage !"  grunted  the  other.  Wentworth  laughed 
as  though  he  had  heard  a  joke,  but  his  voice  was 
unnatural.  He  swayed  from  side  to  side;  but  on 
they  went,  both  faces  now  swollen  terribly,  while 
the  Northerner's  was  blistered;  his  eyes  were 
half-closed.  He  looked  about  him,  but  his  vision 
wandered. 

Presently  he  dimly  wondered  how  his  horse  could 
keep  on  going  without  a  head,  and  why  the  land  had 
turned  to  melted  brass.  He  wanted  to  ask  Thorp 
about  it,  but  something  was  the  matter  with  his 
throat  and  tongue.  He  felt  he  was  going  blind, 
but  he  didn't  care.  He  was  already  deaf,  for  he 
failed  to  hear  the  sheriff  shout  at  him,  nor  did 
he  see  Thorp  wave  his  arms  and  point  to  the 
north. 

He  came  to  himself  with  a  start.  The  sheriff's 
arm  was  round  him — the  sheriff's  canteen  was  at 
his  lips,  and  there  was  a  flavor  of  whiskey  in  his 


268  THE   RED   PAPER 

mouth.  He  looked  round  bewildered,  but  now 
quite  sane,  to  find  himself  seated  on  the  sand. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  said  Thorp,  as  he  saw  the  light 
come  back  to  Wentworth's  eye.  "I  thought  you 
were  a  goner  for  fair  when  you  fell  off  your  hoss! 
Think  you  can  make  a  stagger  at  riding  again? 
It  is  certain  death  to  stay  here!"  "I'll  try,"  said 
the  young  man  feebly.  "I — I  didn't  know  I  was  so 
weak." 

"Weak!  There  ain't  one  in  a  thousand  tender 
foots  that  could  'a'  stood  out  yesterday,  let  alone 
to-day!  Say,  we  ain't  going  to  be  cussed  by  heat 
and  a  lack  of  water  for  long.  See  yonder!" 

The  sheriff  pointed.  Wentworth,  who  had  risen 
to  his  feet,  looked  northward.  A  level  line  of 
dark-blue  clouds  lay  along  the  horizon;  a  bank  as 
straight  on  its  upper  edge  as  though  it  had 
been  ruled.  As  the  still  bewildered  man  stood 
looking  at  it  the  purple  curtain  advanced  per 
ceptibly. 

"A  storm?" 

"A  norther,"  said  the  sheriff.  "This  ain't  no 
time  of  year  for  northers,  they  generally  come  in 
winter.  This  is  like  a  thunder  storm  in  January, 
up  North.  Heaven  knows  I'm  glad  to  see  it  but 
we  may  curse  it  yet.  Ever  see  a  norther?" 

"No." 

Thorp  made  no  reply.  It  was  still  horribly  hot 
as  he  assisted  Wentworth  into  the  saddle;  but  the 


THE   DESERT  269 

latter's  head  was  comparatively  clear,  thanks  to  the 
generosity  of  his  companion,  for  Thorp  had  given 
his  deputy  the  last  drop  of  his  water.  But  then, 
there  was  the  coming  norther.  The  sheriff  knew 
what  that  would  be  likely  to  mean. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  NORTHER 

IT  was  thirty  minutes  later  when  Wentworth, 
his  thirst  again  acute,  felt  the  first  puff  of 
wind  from  the  face  of  the  coming  tempest. 
As  if  touched  by  an  electric  wire,  the  drooping  man 
straightened  himself  and  took  a  deep  breath.  The 
clouds,  inky  in  color,  had  climbed  high,  and  were 
coming  on  like  a  cavalry  charge.  To  the  north  the 
land  was  already  black,  but  the  air  had  suddenly 
grown  strangely  cool. 

Wentworth  had  hardly  time  to  turn  to  the  sheriff, 
when  a  wind  came  that  scooped  up  the  sand  and 
sent  it  dancing  over  the  plain  and  rattling  in  the 
dried  grass.  The  blast  was  cold — fairly  icy  to  his 
fevered  body — but  it  was  unspeakably  grateful.  The 
horses  lifted  their  heads  to  its  breath.  In  an 
instant  later  the  sun  seemed  to  hiss  as  it  met  the 
line  of  inky  clouds,  and  went  out.  The  change 
from  heat  to  cold— from  light  to  shade — had  been 
phenomenal. 

There  is  no  deliberation  in  a  Texas  norther.  It 
270 


THE   NORTHER  271 

is  the  embodiment  of  force,  being  nothing  less  than 
a  gigantic  convulsion  of  nature,  tragic  in  aspect  and 
often  in  results.  Wentworth's  body,  relaxed  by  the 
intense  heat,  was  soon  chilled,  and  his  teeth  were 
chattering.  The  air  was  no  longer  pleasant  save  to 
breathe,  and  it  was  blowing  violently. 

John  reached  for  the  coat  strapped  to  his  cantle 
and  put  it  on,  glad  of  its  warmth;  and  had  no  sooner 
done  so  than  the  force  of  the  tempest  broke  in  a 
deluge  of  hail  and  rain  that  roared  as  it  fell,  the 
wind  driving  in  a  furious  blast  that  sent  the  ice 
bounding  along  the  ground  like  a  stream  of  spent 
bullets. 

Nothing  alive  could  face  it.  Without  regard  to 
their  rider's  efforts,  the  horses  turned  tail  to  the 
hurricane  and  drifted  helplessly  southward;  the  men, 
with  their  shoulders  hunched  and  hats  drawn  low, 
crouching  under  the  volley  that  smote  them.  Both 
were  drenched;  talking  was  impossible;  the  noise  of 
the  wind  was  terrific;  the  plains  were  as  dark  as 
though  the  sun  had  set. 

But  Wentworth  was  alive  at  last;  he  was  not  yet 
numbed.  As  the  first  blast  lessened  in  force,  he  slid 
from  his  saddle  and,  scooping  up  great  handfuls 
of  hailstones  from  the  ground,  crammed  them  into 
his  mouth,  crunching  them  with  frenzied  delight. 
The  sheriff  saw  him,  and  was  at  his  side  in  an 
instant. 

"Stop   it!"   he   roared   above   the   clamor   of   the 


272  THE   RED   PAPER 

wind.  "I  don't  want  a  madman  on  my  hands. 
Go  easy;  you'll  be  cold  enough  before  long.  The 
worst  is  coming." 

And  worse  did  come. 

The  hail  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun,  but 
the  wind  did  not  slacken.  The  air  grew  colder 
and  colder,  the  sky  darker;  the  very  land  seemed  to 
crimp.  The  bitter  gale  drove  the  rain  in  horizontal 
lines,  which  blinded  the  eyes  when  faced;  the  horses 
resisted  all  attempts  to  turn  them,  and  still  went 
toward  the  south.  Both  men  were  sluicing  water 
from  their  bodies  and  shivering — even  more  than 
shivering;  the  cold  shriveled  their  vitality;  the 
change  had  been  terrific. 

Lower  and  lower  fell  the  temperature.  Soon  the 
rain  froze  as  it  struck,  and  Wentworth  marked  a 
fringe  of  small  icicles  on  the  broad  rim  of  his  hat;  a 
film  of  ice  lay  on  the  iron  shoe  of  his  Winchester,  and 
he  heard  the  crash  of  ice-crusted  grass  under  the 
feet  of  his  horse.  His  fingers  were  stiff;  he  was 
becoming  numbed  in  body  and  mind.  He  no  longer 
thirsted,  but  he  was  unutterably  miserable;  the  hail 
had  made  his  throat  feel  as  though  he  had  swallowed 
acid.  The  sheriff  guided  his  horse  to  the  young 
man's  side. 

"No  flesh  and  blood  can  stand  this  much  longer," 
he  yelled.  "Heaven  knows  where  we  are  now,  but 
we've  got  to  hit  some  sort  of  shelter  before  long. 
Wind,  rain,  or  hell,  we've  got  to  pull  west  for  the 


THE   NORTHER  273 

Paintrock,  or  leave  our  bones  here.  We'll  freeze 
to  death  afore  midnight!" 

"How  will  the  river  help  us?"  asked  John  at  the 
top  of  his  voice. 

"I  know  an  abandoned  post  there,  raided  by  the 
Apaches  twenty  years  ago,  and  part  of  the  place 
may  be  yet  standing.  It's  our  only  hope.  I  wish 
I  knowed  if  we  were  north  or  south  of  the  trail. 
What's  that?" 

He  pointed  through  the  deepening  gloom  to  a 
clump  of  cacti  not  ten  feet  away,  on  the  edge  of 
which  something  white  was  violently  fluttering  in 
the  gale.  John's  languid  attention  was  turned  to 
it.  The  sheriff  got  stiffly  from  his  hor^e  and  pulled 
the  rag  from  the  thorns  on  which  it  hung. 

"It's  a  gal's  handkerchief — for  a  thousand  dollars!" 
he  shouted.  "See  here!" 

He  held  it  up  to  Wentworth.  The  half-frozen 
man  took  the  wet  linen  in  his  numbed  fingers.  It 
was  surely  a  handkerchief  — a  lady's  handkerchief — • 
torn  by  hard  usage,  and  in  one  corner  were  embroid 
ered  the  letters  "G.  M." 

The  sheriff  fairly  whooped  as  Wentworth  read 
them  aloud. 

"Blowed  from  the  ambulance!"  he  shouted. 
"  'Tis  a  regular  lighthouse  an'  marks  we  be  south 
of  their  track!  Come  on!  Shut  your  eyes  and  use 
spurs.  We  got  to  get  west,  anyhow!" 

He   climbed   back   into   his   saddle   with   renewed 


274  THE   RED  PAPER 

energy  and  mercilessly  dug  his  long  spurs  into  the 
sides  of  his  exhausted  horse.  And  so  they  went 
west,  keeping  their  animals  across  the  icy  blast  by 
dint  of  rowel  and  shout.  They  no  longer  walked, 
but  struck  a  pace  that  increased  the  suffering  of  both 
man  and  beast. 

The  rain  cut  and  froze,  but  the  iron  sheriff  led 
the  way  with  head  down.  Unconsciously  Went- 
worth  had  drifted  southward,  but  was  still  near 
enough  to  his  companion  to  see  him  haul  up  sud 
denly  on  the  top  of  a  divide,  then  slip  from  his  saddle. 
He  urged  his  horse  to  the  sheriff  and  dismounted. 

"They  are  yonder!"  said  Thorp,  with  his  mouth 
to  his  companion's  ear.  "By  God,  we  have  caught 
them!  We  win!  The  river  is  less  than  half  a  mile 
away,  and  we  have  struck  the  old  station.  They 
are  in  it.  Picket  your  horse  back  in  the  hollow. 
Quick!" 

With  a  sudden  access  of  something  like  warmth, 
WTentworth  obeyed;  then  he  followed  the  sheriff, 
who,  on  foot  and  crouched  low,  made  for  the  next 
swell  of  ground.  At  its  top  Thorp  fell  flat.  Went- 
worth  followed  suit  and  poked  his  head  over  the  rise. 

In  the  distance  he  saw  a  line  of  straggling  trees, 
their  outlines  blotted  by  darkness  and  rain;  but 
nearer,  and  not  two  hundred  feet  away,  were  the  ruins 
of  the  old  post.  Of  what  had  been  three  or  four 
adobe  buildings,  there  was  but  one  left  standing 
with  a  roof.  To  this  was  a  single  doorless  entrance 


THE   NORTHER  275 

that  faced  the  two  watchers.  A  corner  of  the  dilap 
idated  structure  had  been  battered  in,  leaving  a 
yawning  hole,  and  from  it  there  issued  a  line  of  smoke 
which  was  caught  by  the  wind  and  driven  south 
ward  along  the  ground.  In  the  lee  of  the  structure 
was  drawn  up  the  ambulance;  and  between  it  and 
the  wall  of  the  house  were  four  mules  and  a  horse, 
all  in  the  last  stages  of  exhaustion.  It  was  too  dark 
to  distinguish  further  details. 

"There  they  be!  There  they  be!  And  with  a  fire! 
All  comfortable!"  said  Thorp,  seizing  Wentworth's 
arm.  "Have  you  the  pluck  to  follow  me  right 
now?'' 

"Go  on,  and  I'll  show  you,"  was  the  quick  but 
calm  reply. 

"Got  your  gun  handy?" 

"My  revolver?  Yes." 

"This  ain't  no  place  for  rifles.  It's  going  to  be 
close  work.  I'd  rather  wait  till  pitch-dark,  but  we 
can't  stand  it.  Are  you  ready  now?" 

"Go  on,"  was  the  terse  answer.  Wentworth  was 
no  longer  cold  in  body;  his  fingers  had  but  little 
feeling,  but  the  blood  was  coursing  through  his 
veins.  Thorp  crept  back,  Wentworth  close  behind 
him. 

Once  sheltered  from  view,  they  walked  northward 
into  the  blast.  When  well  above  the  building  and 
out  of  possible  observation  from  the  door,  they 
breasted  the  divide  and  cut  across  well  to  windward. 


270  THE   RED   PAPER 

Presently  they  were  under  the  black  wall  of  the  house. 
The  wind,  howling  like  a  thousand  devils  round  the 
angles  of  the  shack,  drowned  all  sounds  there  might 
have  been  within.  There  was  little  danger  of  their 
approach  having  been  heard. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
IN  THE  HUT 

WrITH   drawn  revolvers,  the    sheriff  and  his 
deputy  stole  to  the  front  of  the  house, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  thus  they  came 
to  the  door.     The  two  looked  in. 

The  interior  made  a  dramatic  setting  for  the  action 
that  was  to  come. 

Across  the  single  apartment  from  the  edge  of  the 
doorway  was  drawn  a  blanket  hung  from  a  rope 
stretched  from  wall  to  wall,  which,  in  effect,  divided 
the  space  into  two  rooms. 

In  one  burned  a  low  fire  built  on  the  ground  near 
the  ragged  rent  in  the  building,  its  light  fairly  bring 
ing  out  the  rough  adobe  slabs  and  the  pole  rafters 
of  the  roof.  Near  it,  seated  on  a  rubber  poncho 
spread  on  the  earth,  sat  Grace  Merridale,  her  eyes 
pensively  gazing  into  the  flames,  her  very  attitude 
expressing  extreme  dejection.  Her  bright  hair  hung 
in  wet  masses  down  her  back,  and,  touched  by  the 
firelight,  it  glinted  like  gold. 

277 


278  THE   RED    PAPER 

A  pile  of  grease-wood  was  stacked  in  a  comer, 
left  probably  by  some  former  camper.  Otherwise 
the  place  was  barren  of  every  comfort,  though  two 
or  three  packs  were  near  the  lire. 

The  two  men  hesitated  for  an  instant.  The  girl 
with  the  profile  of  her  sad  face  toward  the  door,  did 
not  see  them.  Wentworth.  devouring  her  with  his 
eyes,  made  no  attempt  to  enter  the  firelight  space; 
he  turned  his  attention  to  the  dark  area  beyond  the 
blanket. 

Both  men  knew  their  quarry  was  in  that  part  of 
the  building.  Were  they  sleeping  from  exhaustion? 
Could  they  be  surprised?  The  mental  question  that 
Wentworth  put  to  himself  was  answered  on  the 
instant. 

Bagshot  and  Planet  were  there,  wrapped  in  blankets. 
The  Mexican  was  asleep,  but  the  greater  villain 
was  wide-awake.  His  brain  was  active — too  ac 
tive. 

Not  that  he  now  feared  pursuit;  he  was  sure  that 
his  wisdom  in  changing  his  course  and  not  going  to 
Kerrsville  had  bewildered  anyone  who  might  have 
attempted  to  follow;  he  had  hardly  taken  into 
account  the  marks  of  his  wagon  tracks,  less  the 
possibility  of  his  slain  scout  having  been  found  before 
he  died,  and  still  less  the  dogged  determination  of 
the  man  whom  he  knew  had  his  capture  in  view. 
And  certainly,  beside  all  else,  no  one  could  follow 
him  through  such  a  storm.  To  make  his  mind 


IN   THE   HUT  27<) 

easier  Fort  Terrel  was  now  within  easy  striking 
distance;  once  there  he  would  arrange  matters 
anew. 

But  the  continued  presence  of  his  niece  had  become 
a  separate  problem,  and  one  to  be  solved  at  once. 
Also  Planet,  who  was  plainly  in  love  with  her,  who 
openly  took  her  part  and  would  protect  her  interest, 
must  be  taken  into  consideration.  He  was  wonder 
ing  if  it  would  not  be  wise  to  at  once  get  up  and  have 
a  talk  with  the  girl  on  the  other  side  of  the  screen- 
while  Planet  was  unconscious  and  could  have  noth 
ing  to  say.  He  would  promise  an  immediate  return 
to  civilization,  obtain  her  signature  to  her  release 
of  the  red  paper — and  keep  as  much  of  his  promise 
as  was  convenient  to  him.  Planet  might  then  go 
to  the  devil,  where  he  belonged.  He  was  actually 
considering  how  to  open  the  conversation,  how 
best  to  wheedle  the  lady  into  compliance  with  his 
plan,  when  to  his  consternation,  the  square  of  the 
doorless  entrance  was  blocked  by  the  figures  of  two 
men,  showing  against  the  faint  sky. 

At  first  Bagshot  recognized  neither,  and  thought 
that  some  wanderers  like  themselves  had  been  caught 
in  the  norther  and  were  seeking  shelter;  but  as  the 
slowly  dying  fire  leaped  into  temporary  strength 
its  light  struck  full  on  the  face  of  Wentworth,  and 
with  something  like  horror  Bagshot  became  aware 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  not  shaken  off  the  man  he 
hated — the  only  one  he  really  feared.  He  guessed 


280  THE   RED   PAPER 

at  once  that  his  companion  was  an  officer  of  the 
law.  The  blow  had  fallen  \vhen  least  expected. 
But  he  would  meet  it;  his  determination  was  auto 
matic. 

Simeon  Bagshot  was  no  physical  coward  though 
he  was  a  moral  beast.  He  knew  he  had  not  yet 
been  seen,  and  that  the  time  for  the  settlement  of 
many  things  had  come,  bringing  him  the  advantage 
of  position.  Slowly  shifting  his  hand  to  his  hip, 
he  drew  his  revolver  and,  getting  to  a  sitting  posi 
tion,  deliberately  aimed  at  the  center  of  the  loom  of 
Wentworth's  body  and  fired.  In  the  dark  the  spurt 
of  flame  seemed  to  reach  from  man  to  man. 

For  Wentworth  it  was  a  fortuitous  shot.  The 
forty-five  caliber  ball  struck  the  revolver  he  held 
in  his  right  hand — struck  it  on  the  sharp  edge  of  the 
cartridge  chamber — and  thus  saved  the  young  man's 
life. 

The  bullet  split  under  the  impact,  one-half  flying 
upward,  the  other  outward  and  downward  and 
lodging  in  Thorp's  thigh.  The  force  of  the  blow 
drove  the  weapon  from  John's  numbed  fingers  as 
though  it  had  been  struck  with  a  club. 

The  sheriff  fell  to  one  knee  with  a  curse,  and, 
leveling  at  the  location  of  the  flash,  instantly  re 
turned  the  shot,  the  ball  passing  into  Bagshot's 
abdomen. 

Uttering  a  yell  of  agony,  the  latter  sprang  to  his 
feet;  and  this  time,  with  unsteady  aim,  fired  direct 


IN  THE   HUT  281 

at  Thorp,  who  on  the  explosion,  dropped  his  weapon 
and  fell  forward  on  his  face. 

From  then  on  the  time  of  action  might  be  measured 
in  fractions  of  a  minute. 

With  the  delivery  of  his  second  shot,  and  seeing 
one  of  his  victims  down,  Bagshot  again  drew  a  bead 
on  John;  but,  a  terrific  paroxysm  of  pain  seizing 
him,  he  half-doubled  himself  as  he  again  fired— 
and  missed.  Not  knowing  the  defenseless  con 
dition  of  his  enemy,  and  frenzied  by  the  pain  of  his 
own  wound,  the  now  demoralized  outlaw  ran  wildly 
for  the  hole  in  the  wall,  tearing  down  the  hanging 
blanket  in  his  flight.  In  a  second  he  was  across  the 
apartment.  Passing  close  to  the  now  shrieking  girl, 
he  struck  her  down;  and.  leaping  over  the  fire, 
disappeared  into  the  storm  without.  So  rapid  had 
been  the  action,  so  stunning  the  effect  of  the  four 
explosions  in  the  narrow  interior,  that  for  a  brief 
instant  Wentworth  was  dazed.  He  was  conscious 
of  three  things,  however — that  he  was  disarmed, 
that  Thorp  had  fallen,  and  that  Bagshot  had  escaped. 
Temporarily  he  saw  and  thought  nothing  of  the 
girl;  but  as  he  stooped  to  recover  his  revolver, 
which  he  found  at  his  feet,  he  became  aware  of  the 
presence  of  Planet. 

That  individual,  awakened  from  his  always  light 
slumber  by  the  crash  of  firearms,  jumped  up,  throw 
ing  aside  his  blanket,  the  cover  falling  on  his  revolver- 
hanger,  which  he  had  left  aside  for  ease  of  body  as 


282  THE    RET)   PAPER 

he  slept.  The  only  part  of  the  situation  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  know  he  comprehended  at 
once. 

The  fire  now  illuminated  the  entire  apartment; 
and  by  its  light,  feeble  though  it  was,  he  recognized 
Wentworth  as  that  young  man  began  to  straighten 
himself  from  picking  up  his  weapon.  He  saw  the 
revolver  in  his  enemy's  hand,  and,  being  himself 
unarmed  save  for  the  knife  in  his  belt,  he  had  but 
an  instant  to  act.  Instead  of  losing  time  by  getting 
his  own  revolver,  or  wasting  himself  by  rushing  on 
Wentworth,  he  drew  the  steel,  threw  back  his  arm, 
and  hurled  the  blade  at  the  stooping  man. 

As  a  knife-thrower,  Planet  was  well-nigh  an  expert; 
and  had  the  light  been  better,  or  had  he  not  been 
agitated  by  the  suddenness  of  the  attack,  his  act 
would  have  been  fatal  to  Wentworth.  As  it  was, 
the  steel  barely  missed  the  head  it  was  aimed  at; 
it  passed  close  to  the  young  man's  left  ear,  chipped 
the  adobe  with  its  point,  and,  glancing  from  the  wall, 
fell  to  the  ground  near  the  fire. 

It  was  followed  up  by  the  body  of  Planet,  who 
hurled  himself  over  the  space  separating  him  from 
his  enemy. 

Wentworth  had  only  time  to  pull  the  trigger  of 
his  weapon  and  hear  the  harmless  click  of  the  hammer 
on  the  chamber  which  had  been  knocked  out  of  gear 
by  Bagshot's  shot,  when  the  Mexican  was  upon  him. 
Casting  aside  the  useless  firearm,  he  met  the  assault, 


283 


and  in  an  instant  the  two  men  came  together  for  the 
third  time  —  now  in  an  embrace  that  each  knew 
meant  death  for  one  of  them. 

Had  Wentworth's  state  been  normal  the  Mexican 
would  have  had  no  chance  with  him;  but  through 
the  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  —  through  thirst, 
exposure,  and  lack  of  rest  —  he  was  far  from  being 
in  his  usual  form.  In  fact,  the  physical  relations  of 
the  two  were  almost  reversed. 

Planet  was  acclimated  —  inured.  He  had  only 
suffered  sharp  inconvenience  from  the  storm,  and 
had  hardly  backed  a  horse  during  the  entire  trip. 
Therefore,  the  brute  strength  of  the  two  men  was 
now  about  equal,  while  the  agility  of  the  Mexican 
was  superior. 

In  a  moment  the  pair  were  whirling  and  staggering 
around  the  hut.  Neither  uttered  a  word.  It  was 
a  silent  fight.  Each  snatched  at  the  other's  throat, 
and  each  made  good  his  defense;  but  neither  could 
break  from  the  hold  of  the  other. 

Three  times  they  circled  the  place,  narrowly 
escaping  a  fall  over  the  body  of  the  sheriff,  who  lay 
prone  on  the  ground.  The  hot  breaths  of  the  two 
contestants  intermingled  and  came  in  gasps.  The 
lire  described  wild  circles  as  they  whirled,  tottered, 
and  recovered;  neither  yet  had  the  advantage. 

Wentworth  knew  himself  to  be  weakening.  The 
supple  form  of  the  Mexican  was  like  tightened  wire 
under  his  hands.  He  could  neither  catch  a  firm  grip 


284  THE   RED   PAPER 

on  the  sinuous  throat,  nor  break  from  his  tenacious 
grasp.  This  could  not  last. 

Their  feet  became  entangled  in  the  folds  of  the 
fallen  blanket,  and  the  struggling  men  went  heavily 
to  the  ground  not  five  feet  from  the  lire,  but  within 
reach  of  the  knife  Planet  had  cast.  There  was  a 
confused  thrashing  of  legs  and  bodies  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  when  it  ceased  Planet  was  astride  Went- 
wrorth's  chest,  one  lean  hand  had  him  by  the  throat, 
and  the  other  was  stretched  for  the  knife  which  he 
reached,  grasped  and  lifted  aloft  for  the  final  blow, 
but  in  a  state  of  desperation  Wentworth  managed 
to  grasp  the  wrist  of  the  hand  holding  the  descending 
blade. 

The  grip  of  the  Mexican  was  too  feeble  to  throttle 
the  under  man  at  once,  and  with  the  arrest  of  his 
hand  there  came  a  test  of  strength  and  endurance 
between  the  two  men,  with  Planet  in  the  better 
position. 

Wentworth  felt  his  power  of  resistence  fast  ebb 
ing  but  he  still  managed  to  hold  off  the  knife, 
giving  over  all  other  efforts  as  useless.  It  seemed 
a  matter  of  a  few  seconds  when  he  must  suc 
cumb. 

Slowly,  but  surely,  lower  and  lower  came  the 
steel,  and  the  muscles  of  both  men  trembled  under 
the  strain.  Wentworth's  face  was  set  and  white; 
once  he  groaned.  Planet's  expression  was  diabolical; 


IN   THE   HUT  285 

his  teeth  showed  in  a  grin  of  desperation;  his  black 
eyes  shone  as  he  felt  his  final  triumph. 

And  the  end  of  John  Wentworth  would  have 
come  then  had  it  not  been  for  the  girl.  Recovering 
from  the  shock  of  her  overthrow  by  Bagshot,  and  the 
crash  of  the  shots,  she  had  shrunk  into  a  corner  as 
the  two  men  tottered  around  the  cabin.  She  did 
not  know  the  cause  of  the  assault;  if  she  thought 
anything,  it  was  that  the  party  had  been  attacked 
by  desperadoes  bent  on  robbery — or  worse,  so  far 
as  she  was  concerned.  She  considered  Planet  as 
acting  in  her  defense  as  well  as  his  own,  and  her 
hopes  went  out  for  him. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  fall  of  the  two  that  she 
realized  what  it  all  meant.  As  the  Mexican  snaked 
himself  from  the  loosened  grasp  of  Wentworth, 
swung  into  his  position  astride  the  other,  and  grasped 
the  knife,  Grace  Merridale  saw  the  upturned  and 
hopeless  face  of  her  lover  now  brought  out  clearly 
by  the  light  from  the  lire. 

The  sight  paralyzed  her,  and  even  the  slowly 
descending  blade  failed  at  once  to  arouse  her  ener 
gies,  but  in  a  moment  the  woman  in  her  arose  supe 
rior  to  the  conditions;  strength  and  purpose  came  to 
iier  in  a  rush.  At  that  instant  she  was  a  lioness, 
,  nd  with  a  shrill  but  inarticulate  cry  she  sprang  to 
the  (ire,  pulled  out  a  flaming  brand  and  thrust  it 
into  the  face  of  the  triumphing  Mexican. 


286  THE   RED    PAPER 

Planet  started  back  with  a  scream  though  without 
entirely  losing  his  seat  astride  of  his  prostrate  enemy. 
However,  the  shock  and  pain  of  the  fire  did  cause 
him  to  relax  the  pressure  of  his  right  arm,  for  the 
moment  giving  Wentworth  the  opportunity  he 
sorely  needed.  As  Planet  drew  away  from  the  brand, 
with  a  desperate  thrust  of  his  body  Wentworth 
threw  off  his  opponent,  and  without  letting  go  of 
the  hand  holding  the  knife  he  pinned  the  man  on 
his  side,  and  changing  the  direction  of  the  point  of 
the  blade,  shoved  it  from  him. 

Unable  to  avoid  the  blow  Planet's  head  fell  back 
and  the  point  of  the  knife  entered  his  throat;  he 
suddenly  relaxed  all  effort,  tried  to  speak,  rolled 
over,  flung  out  his  arms  and  lay  still.  When  Went 
worth  finally  got  to  his  feet  the  Mexican  was  dead; 
the  knife  had  severed  his  jugular  vein. 

Like  one  aroused  from  a  terrific  dream  the  victor 
stood  looking  at  the  motionless  body,  his  chest 
heaving;  he  could  scarcely  stand  as  he  turned  to 
the  woman  who  had  saved  his  life  and  for  whom  he 
felt  he  had  suffered  all  things.  As  their  eyes  met  a 
common  impulse  seized  them  and  the  next  instant 
the  two  were  in  close  embrace.  Not  a  word  had 
been  spoken,  but  the  girl  broke  into  a  storm  of  sobs. 
Wentworth  was  breathing  like  an  engine. 

"Oh!  I  did  not  know— I  did  not  think-— did 
not  even  dare  to  hope  you  would  come!"  said 


IN   THE   HUT  2S7 

the  girl  after  the  first  gust  of  her  emotion  had 
passed. 

'"You  must  know  what  I  owe  you,"  said  Went- 
worth,  when  he  could  speak.  "I  mean  my  life.  I 
offered  it  to  you  in  the  Alamo  and  gathered  that  you 
accepted  it.  And  I  have  been  literally  through  lire 
and  water  to  offer  it  again.  Will  you  keep  it?" 

There  was  no  verbal  answer,  nor  did  the  man 
need  one.  "It  is  a  serious  and  dramatic  wooing," 
he  went  on.  "It  has  been  tragic  all  along.  God 
knows  I  have  earned  you,  if  a  man  ever  earned  a 
woman.  And  I  have  been  sorely  stricken  for  now 
I  have  lost  a  stanch  friend — the  sheriff  who  made 
this  day  possible  and  without  whom  I  could  not  be 
here." 

They  were  standing  near  the  body  of  Planet. 
The  girl  raised  her  white  face  to  his.  "Oh,  my 
dear — "she  began,  but  she  was  interrupted  by  a 
voice  from  behind  them. 

"Easy,  my  lady!  I  am  not  out  of  the  fight,  son! 
Would  you  mind  giving  me  some  of  your  attention?" 

Wentworth  swung  himself  around  as  though  he 
had  heard  a  shot.  The  sheriff  had  drawn  himself 
up  and  was  sitting  propped  against  the  door-post, 
blood  streaming  down  his  face.  The  young  man 
ran  to  him,  his  own  weakness  forgotten.  "Thank 
God  for  this!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  thought  you 
dead!" 


288  THE   RED   PAPER 

"I'm  off  a  little  from  that,  I  reckon,"  was  the 
grim  reply.  I  hate  to  break  up  your  side-shov/, 
son,  but  I've  cinched  a  busted  head  and  a  busted 
leg;  they  have  got  to  be  considered.  "Drag  me  to 
the  fire;  I'm  fair  freezing." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
NEMESIS 

HALF  an  hour  later  the  hut  was  bright  with 
flame  from  a  heap  of  wood  thrown  on  the 
lire.     The  body  of  Planet  had  been  pulled 
from  the  building,  and  Wentworth  was  working  over 
the  wounded  sheriff. 

"It  is  a  nasty  clip,"  he  said.  "The  bullet  cut 
a  swath  through  your  scalp,  just  grazing  the  top 
of  your  skull.  It  was  a  close  squeak,  Thorp;  but 
you  were  stunned,  that's  all.  You'll  have  a  welt 
to  match  your  father's,  after  this;  but  it  is  not  half 
so  serious  a  blow.  The  cold  has  almost  stopped  the 
bleeding.  Let's  see  the  leg."  He  cut  away  the 
blood-stained  trousers  and  washed  the  wound  from 
the  bucket  that  had  been  brought  in. 

"Why,  I  can  feel  the  lead  with  my  finger!"  ex 
claimed  John  joyously  a  moment  later.  "I'll  cut 
it  out  to-morrow.  It  isn't  more  than  an  inch 
under  the  surface.  You  can  back  a  horse  in  three 
days." 

289 


290  THE   RED   PAPER 

"Then  I  guess  I'll  pull  through,"  said  Thorp. 
"Were  you  hurt?" 

"Not  a  scratch — or  only  scratches— thanks  to 
Miss  Merridale.  It  has  been  providential." 

"I  reckon,  son,  we  can  thank  the  lady  for  pretty 
much  all  of  this  traverse,"  said  the  sheriff,  with  a 
touch  of  humor  in  his  weak  voice.  "Leastwise, 
I  have  a  right  to  judge  so  from  what  I've  seen." 

Wentworth  smiled.  "You  don't  have  to  be  a 
Solon,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  at  the  girl  who  was 
busy  tearing  a  white  skirt  into  strips. 

"So?  And  that's  what  gave  you  the  sand  to  go 
through  with  the  business,  isn't  it?" 

"I  deny  nothing." 

"It  wouldn't  alter  my  mind  if  you  did,  son.  Your 
trail  is  pretty  well  marked.  Where's  Bagshot?" 

Wentworth  started.  "By  Heavens,  I  had  about 
forgotten  him!"  he  exclaimed.  "He  ran  out  after 
he  shot  you." 

"But  not  till  I  hit  him— that  I'll  swear.  You 
bet  he  won't  run  far.  You  know  what  I  came  for — 
if  you  had  another  object.  Better  look  him  up. 
Carry  my  gun,  and  don't  take  any  risks." 

But  there  was  now  little  risk  in  dealing  with  Simeon 
Bagshot.  Wentworth  found  him  several  rods  from 
the  house,  rolling  on  the  ground  in  agony — for  in 
the  catalogue  of  human  sufferings  nothing  surpasses 
the  pain  of  a  wound  in  the  abdomen. 


NEMESIS  291 

Bagshot  could  not  rise,  nor  could  the  young  man 
lift  and  carry  the  big  body,  but  he  dragged  him  to 
the  house  and  laid  him  by  the  fire,  the  wounded  man 
groaning  and  cursing  in  the  same  breath.  When 
he  was  brought  in  the  girl  recoiled  from  him,  retiring 
to  the  far  end  of  the  cabin  where  the  sheriff  had  been 
laid  and  covered  with  blankets.  Wentworth  pro 
ceeded  to  look  for  the  wound.  He  found,  it  a  dark 
blue  hole,  and  a  glance  told  the  young  man  that  the 
hurt  would  prove  fatal;  it  took  no  experience  to 
determine  that.  And  there  was  nothing  that  could 
be  done  for  the  moaning  sufferer. 

But  the  wound  in  the  abdomen  was  not  all  that 
Wentworth  found.  Around  the  body  of  the  helpless 
man  was  a  money-belt,  and  with  it  its  discoverer 
proceeded  to  make  free  while  his  old  enemy  looked 
at  him,  his  eyes  filled  with  impotent  anger.  The 
searcher  knew  what  he  was  looking  for  and  was  not 
in  the  least  surprised  when  he  came  upon  the  red 
paper — the  cause  of  all  his  trouble — wrapped  in 
oiled  silk.  Beside  this  were  several  hundred  dollars 
in  money  which  Wentworth  returned  to  the  belt 
and  laid  in  Bagshot's  hand,  though  that  individual 
did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  For  his  eyes  were  on  the 
young  man  as  he  unrolled  the  oiled  silk  wrapper, 
and  their  expression  was  sinister  enough  as  the  paper 
was  refolded  and  Wentworth  placed  it  in  his  own 
pocket.  This  dcmc  he  covered  his  fallen  enemy 


292  THE   RED    PAPER 

with  a  blanket  and  returned  his  attention  to   the 
sheriff. 

After  a  series  of  intermittent  contortions,  con 
tinuing  for  upward  of  an  hour — and  during  which 
time  Bagshot  cursed,  groaned  and  demanded  whiskey 
—he  suddenly  spoke  rationally,  and  his  voice  had 
lost  the  tension  caused  by  acute  suffering.  "There!" 
he  said,  shifting  his  big  body.  "I'm  better.  The 
tearing  has  stopped." 

Wentworth  went  over  him,  bent  down  and  took 
his  pulse,  then  shook  his  head  as  he  spoke  to  the  man. 
"I  expected  this.  You  are  dying,  Mr.  Bagshot," 
he  said,  looking  down  on  the  pinched  face,  and  well 
aware  of  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  cessation  of 
pain. 

"The  hell  I  am!" 

"It  would  be  useless  to  deny  it,  as  it  would  be  use 
less  to  say  I  regret  it.  You  brought  this  on  to 
yourself,  sir.  If  you  have  anything  to  say  you  had 
better  say  it  at  once." 

"You  are  a  damned  cheerful  kind  of  a  raven  to 
come  croaking  around  me!  Don't  try  to  scare  me, 
sir;  you  haven't  been  able  to  do  it  yet." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  do  more  than  speak  the  truth 
to  you  at  this  time,  Mr.  Bagshot.  And  you  would 
do  well  to  do  the  same." 

"Oh,  I'm  on  to  you!"  was  the  reply.  "You 
look  for  me  to  confess  killing  your  father.  You 


NEMESIS 

think  I  murdered  him.  Well,  I  didn't — but  I  came 
near  it,  damn  you  both!" 

"You  were  with  him  that  night?"  Wentworth 
bent  forward  to  catch  the  answer,  for  the  man's 
voice  was  growing  feeble. 

"Yes,  I  was  with  him — Planet  and  me.  Where's 
Planet?" 

"You  will  join  him  shortly,"  said  Wentworth, 
lowering  his  voice,  Bagshot  gasped  as  if  a  sudden 
realization  of  the  truth  had  come  to  him. 

"My  God!  I  believe  you  are  right!  I'll  tell 
Heaven's  truth  about  it.  I  got  there  right  after 
you  left.  We  rang  the  bell,  and  your  father  came 
to  the  door  and  let  us  in.  We  went  back  to  the 
library.  You  know  what  we  went  for. 

"Your  father  cursed  us  both;  he  was  awfully 
excited.  He  made  me  mad.  I  got  him  by  the 
throat  to  make  him  tell  where  the  map  was,  but 
didn't  hardly  toikh  him  when  he  fell.  I  thought  he 
had  fainted,  and  I  tried  to  bring  him  to  with  ice 
and  water  from  the  pitcher;  but  I  soon  knew  he  was 
dead.  We  were  in  a  fix. 

"I  didn't  dare  call  any  one,  but  I  ransacked  the 
drawers  and  his  clothes.  Then  Planet  funked,  got 
scared;  so  we  went  out  the  way  \vc  came  in.  You 
see,  I  didn't  kill  him.  Your  murder  theory  was  all 
wrong,  and  I  knew  it." 

"You  did  kill  him,  for  all  your  story,"  returned 


294  THE   RED   PAPER 

John,  keeping  down  his  resentment  in  the  presence 
of  death.  "You  brought  on  the  attack  that  ended 
my  father's  life,  and  you  were  his  murderer  at  heart. 
You  would  have  robbed  him.  You  had  already 
ruined  his  life  by  a  lie — the  lie  on  which  you  traded 
and  blackmailed.  Captain  Wentworth  committed 
no  crime,  and  you  knew  it.  I  know  it  now  for  I 
have  met  the  man  my  father  struck  while  a  mere 
boy.  He  knows  you.  It  was  Thorp — Bud  Thorp. 
His  son  lies  yonder — the  sheriff  of  Bexar  County. 
You  wounded  him,  but  not  seriously,  thank  God! 
And  it  was  he  who  shot  you;  not  I." 

Bagshot  opened  wide  his  eyes.  "Hell!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "It's  all  up  to  Shearpole!  Why  did  he 
let  you  go?  He  promised  to  hold  you." 

"He  didn't  let  me  go.  I  know  him  for  the  rascal 
that  he  is!  I  escaped  and  was  hidden  in  the  boat 
that  took  you  ashore.  You  robbed  me,  and  would 
have  robbed  your  niece,  had  your  plans  carried. 
You  have  been  a  living  lie  most  of  your  life — -a 
common  thief  and  a  murderer  in  purpose.  May 
Heaven  forgive,  for  as  yet  I  cannot.  You  are  dying. 
Do  you  want  anything?" 

Later  Wentworth  wished  he  had  revised  this 
speech  before  he  made  it.  It  seemed  heartless,  on 
mature  thought,  but  at  that  time  he  was  full  of  his 
wrongs,  and  his  passionate  hate  for  the  man  before 
him  overbore  what  charity  he  possessed. 


Bagshot  lay  still  for  a  moment,  apparently  looking 
at  the  ragged  wall  of  the  room.  Outside  the  storm 
still  howled,  the  rain  hissing  as  it  tore  along  the 
roof  which  dripped  in  a  dozen  places.  Presently 
the  dying  man  turned  his  face  toward  Wentworth; 
his  voice  was  singularly  mild,  but  his  eyes  belied  his 
tone. 

"You  are  right — you  are  right — you  are  right," 
he  repeated  softly.  "I  am  dying — going  out  like 
a  shot  dog.  And  you  have  come  out  ahead !  Say— 
you  ask  me  if  I  want  anything.  Yes — but  not 
for  long.  That  paper  has  been  all  I  have  worked 
for  for  ten  years  and  more.  I  married  Merri- 
dale's  sister,  and  she  told  me  of  it  before  she 
died — told  me  of  the  old  man's  find  and  how  to 
read  the  map.  I  worried  it  out  of  her.  I  confess 
it.  I  have  been — a  bad — man.  I  wanted — money. 
Don't  take  the  map  away  from  me  before — I 
go.  I  love  the  feel — of  it.  Let  me — touch  it; 
let  me  hold — it — in  my  hand.  You'll  have  it  al 
ways.  Please — please — as — as — you  hope  for — happi 
ness. " 

The  weakening  voice  and  the  strange  appeal- 
childish  in  its  nature — made  the  scene  pitiful.  Went 
worth  looked  toward  Grace.  The  girl,  who  had 
been  listening,  was  white  with  sympathy,  and  her 
eyes  moistened.  She  nodded.  Wentworth  put  the 
thin,  oiled  silk  packet  in  the  hand  of  his  enemy.  He 


296  THE   ilED   PAPER 

felt  he  could  do  no  less — nor  more;  it  would  not  be 
for  long. 

The  dying  man  hugged  the  packet  to  his  breast, 
cuddling  it  as  a  child  might  have  cuddled  a  favorite 
doll.  It  was  a  moving  exhibition  of  human  weak 
ness,  and  one  which  did  not  increase  Wentworth's 
respect  for  the  abject  man. 

For  some  time  Bagshot  lay  silent,  the  paper  tight 
in  his  grasp,  his  eyes  turned  to  the  leaking  roof; 
then  he  moved  his  head  and  looked  at  his  victor. 

''You — arc  a — decent  sort  of  a — chap,  after — all!" 
he  said  brokenly.  "Give  me  water — water." 

Wentworth  took  the  cup  he  had  found  in  the 
ambulance,  and  went  outside.  The  storm  was 
unabated,  the  rain  even  heavier,  and  a  stream  of 
water  was  sluicing  from  a  corner  of  the  dilapidated 
roof.  From  this  he  tilled  the  cup  and  was  about 
to  return  when  he  was  startled  by  a  shout  from  the 
sheriff  and  a  scream  from  the  girl.  He  bounded 
back  into  the  hut  and  at  once  saw  the  cause  of  the 
cry. 

Bagshot,  with  an  access  of  strength,  had  rolled 
close  to  the  fire  near  which  he  had  been  lying,  and 
reaching  out,  pressed  the  precious  paper  into  the 
center  of  the  bed  of  now  glowing  embers.  The  oiled 
silk  cover  flashed  up  like  powder  and  before  Went 
worth  could  reach  the  fire  and  snatch  the  document 
from  destruction  the  light  paper  was  consumed,  its 


NEMESIS  297 

feathery  ash,  stirred  by  the  effort  at  rescue,  floating 
up  to  the  roof  of  the  cabin. 

As  its  total  loss  was  assured  Bagshot  yelled: 
"There,  damn  your  lily-colored  soul!"  and  rolled 
away  from  the  fire,  shaking  the  hand  blackened  by 
the  heat.  "You  thought  you  had  me,  did  you? 
Get  the  fortune  I've  worked  for,  if  you  can!  Did 
YOU  think  I'd  be  such  a  fool  as  to  let  you  have  it? 

*>  J 

Did  you  think  to  get  the  best  of  me?  I  win!  I  win! 
You  are — a  callow — ass!" 

He  wrung  his  scorched  hand,  and  it  was  while  he 
was  waving  it  in  the  air  that  his  arm  suddenly  fell. 
The  next  instant  his  whole  body  relaxed  and  he 
became  unconscious. 

At  the  last  desperate  act  of  the  outlaw,  and  when 
the  loss  of  the  paper  was  a  certainty,  Wentworth 
felt  a  sense  of  defeat  that  was  purely  personal.  IIC 
was  tempted  to  take  the  triumphant  men  by  the 
throat  and  shake  the  little  remaining  life  from  him. 
And  yet  he  knew  he  cared  nothing  for  the  paper  for 
himself.  It  had  been  the  object  which  had  started 
him  on  his  errand  of  justice,  but  as  a  motive  for 
his  actions  it  had  long  since  ceased  to  be  a  factor.  He 
turned  and  looked  at  the  girl,  expecting  to  see  an 
expression  of  consternation  on  her  face,  but  to  his  sur 
prise  she  greeted  his  voiceless  question  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  gone!"  he  said.  "Gone  past  redemption! 
There  is  nothing  of  it  left!" 


12<)S  THE   RED   PAPER 

"And  then  the  curse  of  it  has  been  lifted,"  she 
returned  quickly,  rising  and  going  to  him.  "Do 
not  be  sorry  for  me.  I  cared  nothing  for  it — save 
on  your  account.  It  has  left  a  trail  of  violence 
wherever  it  went!  It  has  cost  more  lives  than  it 
was  worth!  Oh,  I  am  glad — glad  it  it  gone!" 

"I  am  more  than  thankful  that  you  feel  this  way 
about  it,"  said  Wentworth  fervently.  "To  me  it 
has  not  been  an  unmixed  curse.  I,  too,  am  willing 
to  be  glad." 

"But  I'm  most  everlastingly  sorry,"  said  Thorp 
from  his  corner.  "We  had  enough  trouble  in 
getting  it — and  it  would  have  been  worth  millions." 

Wentworth  laughed;  it  was  his  first  laugh  for 
many  days.  "Only  possibly  millions — in  money," 
he  said.  "And  it  has  been  worth  millions  to  me — 
but  in  something  better  than  cash."  And  regardless 
of  the  sheriff's  presence  he  passed  his  arm  around 
the  girl's  waist  and  kissed  her  as  she  bent  over 
her  fast-dying  uncle. 

Thorp  coughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "the  lost  San 
Saba  mine  is  still  lost,  though  you  have  found  enough 
else  to  console  you.  But  my  errand  goes  for  noth 
ing — except  a  bunged  head  and  a  busted  leg." 

"Does  it?"  asked  Wentworth,  straightening  him 
self.  "I  think  not.  You  got  your  man — your 
men." 

"And   you   your   woman,"   returned    the   sheriff, 


NEMESIS  299 

grimly.  "I  can  see  how  you  feel  paid — and  perhaps 
I  ought  to  be  satisfied." 

"I  know  I  am,"  said  Wentworth.  "Under  the 
circumstances  I  suppose  I  ought  to  bless  Bagshot 
for  forcing  himself  into  my  life  as  he  did,  instead 
of  cursing  him.  And — ah,  he's  gone!  May  God 
forgive  him!" 

And  with  that  he  drew  the  end  of  the  blanket 
over  the  face  of  his  dead  enemy. 


A     000  138  243     1 


